A Great Perhaps
by TheMourningMadam
Summary: Hermione convinces Draco to join her team of curse-breakers and it leads to travels all over the world. Despite their obliviousness to the obvious attraction between them, a love unlike any she ever expected to find begins to smolder. Pure romance and fluff.
1. Chapter 1

_Author's Note: As I began writing Part 3 of Pariah, I realized that every story I'm writing is angsty and/or dark. It's where I dwell best. So, I thought I needed to challenge myself. A full-length story with nothing but fluff, romance and adventure._ _ **Bailey4047**_ _and I sat down together and planned this entire story out, and it contains very little angst and a whole LOT of romance. I hope you enjoy the lovey-dovey-ness of this. I am way out of my element writing solid fluff and adventure, so I apologize ahead of time if it's cavity-inducing sweetness-I may need to sneak a little angst in here or there. Beta love for this chapter goes to_ _ **CourtingInsanity**_ _, who took this story on out of sheer love of editing. So many "thank yous," my dear!_

" **I go to seek a Great Perhaps."**

– **Francois Rabelais' famous last words,**

 **Made even more popular in** _ **Looking for Alaska,**_ **by John Green**

Hermione Granger knew that she was every bit as insane as her coworkers had accused her of being when she found herself staring at the wrought iron gates of Malfoy Manor. She had assured them that Draco Malfoy was just the person to help them with their latest endeavors, but now, as she felt the ripples of ancient magic emanating from within the property, she was suddenly a little less certain.

She had sent him an owl the day prior, requesting a meeting with him and—much to her surprise and delight—he had obliged, returning her owl with a bouquet of fresh cut daisies and a bottle of his family's finest wine. ' _I look forward to seeing you, Granger'_ he had written in his perfect script on the return card. Hermione felt a fluttering in her tummy as she drew her lip between her teeth.

After the War had ended, Draco had been ordered to return to Hogwarts as part of his probation. He had been heart-wrenchingly sullen and lonesome when the year began, and Hermione had been surprised to receive a handwritten letter of apology from him. Hermione had accosted him one afternoon after Quidditch practice—seemingly the only thing that brought him some semblance of joy—and had dragged him to the stands for a long talk.

They had discussed everything—his treatment of her for their entire lives, which she learned had been brought on more by jealousy than actual prejudice; the way he had shattered her feelings when he had treated her in such a vile manner; his horror and subsequent nightmares regarding his aunt's torture of her in his home and the regret he felt at not saving her from such abuse; her forgiveness, freely given after receiving such a heartfelt letter from him.

From that day forward, throughout the rest of their final year at Hogwarts, the two had been nearly inseparable. They were study partners and Hermione had been pleased to discover that they worked cohesively together when it came to schoolwork. She had also been elated to find that the Slytherin was nothing like the boy she had been accustomed to before the War. He was funny, charming, flirty and every bit as brilliant as she was. Despite their jagged past, the witch had developed quite the crush during that final year.

They had coquettishly orbited around one another the entire school year and she had been crushed when, after graduation, Draco had suddenly disappeared. The two had exchanged owls at first, but eventually that had tapered off and they fell out of touch. Since then, she had seen neither hide nor hair of him. He had kept out of the spotlight upon leaving the shelter of Hogwarts—the public opinion of him was not favorable and she could not blame him for wanting to avoid that type of harassment. Daphne, who had eloped with Harry the year prior, claimed to see Draco a few times when Theo and Pansy forced him to attend one of their dinners. According to her, he was fine if a little quieter and broodier.

But Hermione had not seen him in the seven years since they had left Hogwarts. Her stomach was doing somersaults at the thought of seeing him again, all of the feelings she had buried deep within for years rushing to the surface. She felt nineteen again, sitting in the library at Hogwarts, waiting for him to show up after Quidditch practice to study Ancient Runes. Her hands went up and covered her eyes and a long breath escaped as she tried not to picture him emerging from the Black Lake as they all celebrated their graduation with a bonfire.

She heard the metallic tinkling of cogs grinding and the gate clicked open. Removing her hands from her eyes, she looked down the long, winding path that led up to the Manor's front entry. The last time she had been in this home, it had been a horrific, nightmare-inducing experience. But as she now looked up at the structure in the bright October sunlight, surrounded by colorful and lush foliage, Hermione thought it was significantly less ominous.

It took every effort for Hermione to bring one foot in front of the other and to walk over the gate's threshold. It swung closed behind her with a _clank!_ and she jumped slightly. Her nerves were eating away at her, singing with anticipation. She breathed in deeply. "It's fine, Hermione. It's just Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. You were friends with him. Nothing more—you don't get nervous to see Harry, do you?"

Her palms were sweating, and the witch rubbed them against the fabric of her trousers. She brought them to smooth over the soft plum cashmere of her jumper as well. Hermione had changed her clothing not once, not twice, not five times, but six. Everything looked too provocative, or too conservative, or too _blah_. She had fretted for over an hour before settling on black trousers, a deep purple jumper and black pointed-toe heels. She looked professional—after all, she was here on business.

"Oh, sweet Merlin. What if he's married?" she mumbled, looking at the ground intently and not daring to look straight forward. "What if he is? So, what? He was never yours to begin with, you barmy witch."

The bottom stair of the entryway to the Manor came into view and her heart nearly stopped as she steeled her nerves enough to glance up to the door. The sight there brought her heart back to life and had it beating double time: Draco Malfoy was standing in the doorway, leaning against the jamb with his arms folded over his chest. He was wearing dark trousers and a soft grey jumper, his hair combed in a grown-up way. His face—was it possible that he was more handsome now than ever before? He had matured into the angles and points of his face and his grey eyes danced with mirth as his lips curved into a smirk. "Miss Hermione Granger," he said by way of greeting, and his voice caused a shiver to run down her spine.

The entire year that she had spent falling for him, she had never been able to deny him a smile when he looked at her like _that_. Like she was a tiny rabbit and he the great wolf, predatory and sexy as hell. Her mouth formed an embarrassingly wide smile as he stepped away from the door and came to take her hand and escort her up the stairs. Once at the top, he leaned in and brushed his lips against her flaming hot cheek. "You're as magnificent as ever, Granger. Please, come in," he told her, dropping her hand to place his low on her back and lead her through the door.

Hermione looked around, surprised that he was the one to greet her and not a tiny, sack-clad house elf. He looked over at her and she could see he was fighting a smile. "Didn't expect the Master of the house to answer the door?" he teased as he led her toward the back of the house.

She noted that the entire layout of the Manor was completely different from the last time she was there, and she recognized nothing. Instead of being decorated in dark mahogany and black marble, it was now decorated in white granite floors and honey colored oaks. "Not exactly."

"Oh, trust me, you'll meet Soots. She's our house elf, but she is no servant. I think the word 'diva' might apply more adequately to her," Draco said with a laugh.

"And where is Soots?" Hermione questioned as he led her into a sunny tea room, decorated in shades of cream and yellow.

"Well, you're the first female to visit me since my mother's botched attempts at playing matchmaker. She and my mother likely watched you _walk_ up to the door, instead of apparating, and they are likely scheming on how best to get us married in under a year," he told her, pulling out a chair at the small table by the window.

Hermione sat, relishing the warmth of the natural sunlight filtering in, and Draco sat across from her. His words regarding his mother's whereabouts caused a flush to spread up her chest and creep onto her cheeks. "Thank you for agreeing to meet with me. I know we haven't kept in touch much over the last seven years."

With one long finger, Draco tapped the letter she had sent to him on the table top. "I have to admit, I was intrigued by your missive."

He began to pour two cups of tea and raised an eyebrow. "Still two spoons of sugar and a dash of milk?"

Hermione nodded, surprised that he remembered the way she took her tea nearly a decade after they had last seen one another. "I'm sorry to contact you out of the clear blue—but I could not think of anyone who might know more on this particular subject than you."

Draco handed her a teacup and sat back casually in his chair, crossing his ankle over his knee and bouncing his foot as he stared at her over the rim of his cup. "I don't have formal training on any of this. Just years of reading and a library full of books that may help you."

"When I became a curse-breaker," Hermione began, lowering her eyes so that she could think clearly, "I learned a little of this and a little of that. We studied bloodline curses briefly and I have not come in contact with a single one in five years."

"I'm sure someone at Gringotts could assist you—you are the greatest team of curse-breakers in the wizarding world," he argued lightly, his tone amused.

"The others don't even believe it to be a blood curse. Bill is rather skilled, but he believes the hairbrush to be cursed, not the family bloodline," Hermione told him, her lips pursing. "Our usual blood-curses liaison is unfortunately out of the country and struggling with a bout of dragon pox."

"Ah, so I'm a second choice," Draco commented, pushing a plate of biscuits in her direction. "How special I feel."

"Actually, I mentioned you right off. The others think I'm crazy to ask you for assistance," she replied.

"Why? Because I'm the big bad Death Eater?" he asked, all teasing gone as he looked up in her direction.

Hermione nearly choked on the bite of biscuit she had taken, coughing and sputtering wildly. "No," she said when she finally caught her breath. "No. We don't think like that. They think I'm crazy because, why would you want to help us? You're a recluse who hasn't been seen in public in seven years, you're independently wealthy and we have no money to offer, and we haven't spoken in so long—we're not exactly friends anymore."

Draco stared at her, running his fingers over his lips. "Why do _you_ think that I would be willing to assist you?"

It was Hermione's chance to smile. "Because, as you said, you're intrigued. I know you well enough to know that you've probably already started researching Marie Laveau."

Draco fought a grin and regarded her silently for a few moments. She had to try with all of her might not to look away from his steady gaze and penetrating stare. "So, bring me the hairbrush and I'll take a look at it, see if blood magic cursed it."

Hermione frowned slightly. "That's not quite what I had in mind. I think the curse is in the Laveau bloodline itself. The people are what is cursed, not the brush. I was hoping you would come with me to investigate it."

Both of Draco's eyebrows rose toward his hairline. "You want me to go to America with you?"

"Just for as long as it takes to find out if it is blood related or if the curse is in the hairbrush itself."

"You think feeding my blinding curiosity is going to be satiating enough for me to agree? As you said, I would be an unpaid _consultant_ ," he countered, taking a sip of his tea.

Hermione could feel her hopes being dashed the longer she stared at him. She had hoped that his one-time insatiable thirst for knowledge and bubbling curiosity about the world around him would be enough of a push for him to agree to accompany her. It would have been enough, seven years prior. But there was something different about the Draco Malfoy she watched now.

He was more relaxed, more confident than he had been. His eyes, still holding the mischievous twinkle that they had during their final year at Hogwarts, were wizened and brighter. His countenance was at ease and patient. Perhaps it was because they were in his home, and perhaps it was because he had led a simple life in the time since they had parted.

"Why don't you come on up to my library?" Draco said, rising and clearing their tea with a wave of his wand. "If nothing else, I have some books that may be of help to you."

Hermione nodded, trying to mask her disappointment at his rejection. He placed a guiding hand low on her back once more and began walking through the bright foyer of the Manor. They climbed a staircase that had two corridors leading off from it and he took the one to the left. The door at the very end was already open and Hermione could see a sprawling library housed within the room.

Once they entered the room, Draco rolled his eyes. "Mother, Soots. You can come on out now."

Hermione took a deep breath as Narcissa Malfoy waltzed out from within the stacks that lined the room. Clad in regal robes of a silvery lavender, she was holding a book open. A small elf, fully decked out in a zebra print suit and a black hat that was wider than she was, followed closely behind. Across her face, a patch of dark black fur covered her nose and looked exactly like a smudge of soot. "Ah, Draco, dear. I was just catching up on my reading."

"Really? And what is it you're reading about? _Mating Rituals of the Celtic Druids?_ " he read the title of the book in her hand. "And without your reading glasses. Must be more of a visual book, then."

Narcissa shot her son a glare that turned Hermione's blood to ice and snapped the book shut. "Enough of that insolence. It's unbecoming of a gentleman."

"I was just doing some light dusting, Master Draco," Soots told him, waving a feather duster that looked as though it had never seen a speck of dust a day in its life.

"Really? Are you sure the two of you, or perhaps just one of you—" he sent a pointed look toward the house elf "—weren't standing outside of the tea room and eavesdropping?"

"Draco Lucius," Narcissa warned before training her bright cobalt eyes on Hermione for the first time. "Don't be rude, dear. Introduce us to Miss Granger."

Hermione bristled under Narcissa's stare, gooseflesh rising over her arms. Her eyes were even more keen than her son's and the younger witch felt as though she was seeing straight into her mind. It occurred to her that it wouldn't be above the Malfoy parents to use Legilimency. Narcissa was a force not to be reckoned with and even in her kindness, there was an underlying, menacing air about her.

"You already know who she is, Mother, for Merlin's sake." He rolled his eyes once more. "But this is Hermione Granger. Granger, my mother, Narcissa Malfoy, née Black, of the Ancient and Noble House of Black. Wife of Lucius Abraxas Malfoy, the forty-eighth generation of the Ancient House of Malfoy. And her faithful sidekick, Soots. Who has been in my family since before I was born."

Narcissa smiled a tight-lipped smile at her son's dramatics and extended her hand. Hermione felt uneasy and uncertain of whether she would be expected to curtsy or perhaps kiss the gigantic emerald that adorned the older witch's petite finger. She took her hand and shook it politely and Narcissa smiled secretively, as though she sensed Hermione's uncertainty. "Miss Granger. How lovely it is to see you again. I read recently of your success in breaking that curse on the statue in Brazil. Congratulations."

Hermione smiled politely. "Thank you. It was a collective effort with my team."

"No need to be modest, dear. Draco used to boast of your unmatched wit and intelligence," the blonde told her.

"Mother!" Draco reprimanded. "I have a few books I need to lend Hermione if that is _quite_ alright with you and Miss Soots, here."

"Of course," Narcissa smiled wider. "Stay as long as you'd like Miss Granger. Come along, Soots."

With that, the house elf raised her hand and Narcissa took it. The pair left the room, with Soots looking over her shoulder at the young couple, a smile on her face. Hermione smiled politely back, and Draco sighed. "Sorry about that. My mother thinks any young, viable, single female is worth trying to set me up with these days. She holds little hope that I'll marry on my own."

He crossed the room and disappeared between two stacks. His footsteps echoed in the room, muted slightly by the heavy contents. "Well, follow me, Granger," he said, sounding exasperated at her obliviousness.

Hermione skipped slightly as she began to pad quickly after him. He was running his fingers along the spines of books that looked somewhat newer in comparison to the rest of the tomes. "I have a few volumes on Leveau, old New Orleans witchcraft and voodoo, and a few older ones in another row about blood lineage and curses."

He plucked a few books from the shelves, creating a healthy-sized stack for her that levitated between them. "I appreciate you letting me borrow them. I'll have them back to you in no time. Padma has an eidetic memory and can read at record speed."

"Ah, yes. Padma. Pansy's new play thing. We've been acquainted at one of Pansy's 'dinner parties'—also known as 'let's get together and talk shit about any and everyone we have ever come into contact with while also drinking ourselves blind.'"

He ambled along slowly to another aisle, looking along the spines and dragging his fingers along until he found the books he was looking for. Hermione looked around her at all of the ancient bindings. She could easily spend the entire week searching through each book. The fact that there were many different languages and topics had her heart fluttering. Or perhaps her close proximity to the blond was making her heart patter as though it would fly right out of her chest.

After the last book had been placed on the stack, Draco turned to look at her and smiled kindly. "I think these should all help."

With a wave of his wand, the stack shrank and was tied up in a silky green ribbon. Hermione stood still as he grabbed the books and laced his fingers through the ribbons to carry them. She was watching the way he maneuvered, familiar in so many ways, but so different than she remembered. All of the nights she had first thought of him, after his owl had begun to deliver less and less post until it finally stopped altogether, she thought she had memorized him perfectly. Seeing him now, she realized the memories she had enclosed in the deep recesses of her mind were not enough to do Draco justice.

Draco moved to tug at a loose curl and gave her a handsome smile. "I can walk you back to the gates if you'd like."

Hermione tried to swallow down the rise of disappointment she felt suffocating her and agreed. The tiny hope she had still harbored that he might want to spend some time with her fizzled out and she was left with a stinging rejection and the sense that she no longer knew the man she had secretly considered her best friend for that final year at school.

Once outside of the doors, Draco seemed to loosen up even further. "I'd like to see you—have lunch and catch up, in a non-official capacity. Somewhere outside of the Manor and away from my mother and Soots."

Hermione looked to where he walked, casually and confidently, next to her. "I'd like that as well. It's been so long."

"Seven years. I can hardly believe all that time has passed," he agreed with a nod, looking down at the ground, his mood shifting slightly.

"I enjoyed exchanging owls," she hinted, hoping he would be a little more forthcoming with why he had stopped writing.

"I did as well," was all he offered.

Hermione knew where this was headed—Draco apparently still held the ability to shut down and toss up defensive walls when he felt it necessary. It was common at the beginning of their short-lived friendship, but by the end, he was open and honest with her. "Draco. Why did you stop writing?"

Hermione couldn't help it—she needed to know the answer. It had burned within her heart those first few months and now, seeing him again, it was eating away at her slowly once more. At the end of the path, Draco stopped and looked at her, sighing. "My mother wished me to find a witch to court and marry. I couldn't easily do that if I was constantly distracted by another witch."

"But you didn't marry," Hermione countered, his statement confusing her more than answering her question.

He slowly shook his head. "No. My mother's matchmaking skills are virtually non-existent. She thought Pansy would be a good match, for Merlin's sake."

Hermione huffed a small laugh—Pansy had come out two years prior, shocking the pureblood world and earning herself an excommunication from her family. "Why hasn't anyone seen or heard of you?"

Draco shoved his hands into his pockets and bounced on the balls of his feet. "I was traveling."

 _Traveling?_ The word seemed almost foreign to Hermione's ears when it slipped from his mouth, though she spent more nights away from her own bed than in it. Curiosity was welling within her, but she tamped it down as he handed her the bundle of books. "It was good to see you again, Draco," she told him, touching his forearm lightly.

Hermione turned to walk through the gates and she was stopped in her tracks at the sound of his voice. "I know a quaint little bistro in the French Quarter. Perhaps we could catch up there?"

A broad smile spread across the witch's face and she looked up at the clear sky before turning around. He looked pleased with himself and Hermione crossed to where he stood and pulled him into a hug. Draco stiffened initially and then relaxed into her embrace. "You won't regret this."

"When do we leave?" he questioned when she let him go, rubbing the back of his neck.

"In a few days. I need to introduce you to the team and get you acquainted with the case. Can you come past Gringotts tomorrow?" she asked, feeling a heady mix of anxiety and elation.

"Nothing would bring me greater pleasure," Draco responded, and Hermione could see a tense set to his jaw that confused her.

She could sense that she had pushed him enough for one day, but she intended to find out why he had left for years to travel. Where he had gone. Why he looked tense at the idea of meeting her fellow curse-breakers. "I'll see you tomorrow," Hermione confirmed, trying to play it cool and as though she wasn't on the verge of skipping through the gates and all the way down Diagon Alley.

One corner of his mouth turned up in a lopsided grin. "I've missed you, Granger."

Hermione drew her bottom lip between her teeth and gave him a small wave as she apparated away from the Manor and back to Diagon Alley to return and rub her victory in her coworkers' faces. As the world spun around her and she landed safely on her feet in front of the bank, piercing grey eyes clouded her mind. She doubted very seriously that she would be able to concentrate on anything else except the way he had stared at her, like she was a specter back from his past. Like he was genuinely happy to lay eyes on her once more, to speak to her, to tease her. All of the long-hidden feelings began rising to the surface, threatening to overtake the witch as she strode into Gringotts.

Hermione Granger had just waltzed back into Draco Malfoy's life, but she felt as though he were the one holding all of the cards, turning her life upside down, causing a permanent blush to bloom over her face and her body to feel alight with the flame he had ignited nearly a decade before.

o-o-o

Narcissa watched as Draco walked with Miss Granger down the long path leading away from the Manor. It did not escape her shrewd stare, how closely and comfortably he walked with the young witch, nearly shoulder-to-shoulder. The last date he had gone on, as far as she knew, had been with Tracey Davis nearly five years prior, before he had up and left to go on his makeshift sabbatical.

She had nearly given up hope for him, had reserved herself to the fact that he was a lifelong bachelor. She had mourned the loss of the grandchildren she would never have. But seeing the way he interacted with the famous witch, so easily even after seven years apart, a new hope ignited in Narcissa's heart.

"Soots, we need to pen a letter to Miss Granger. Invite her to visit the rare books in my private study and to join us for dinner," she told the house elf, who was currently buffing Lucius' nails.

"Cissy. Leave the boy be—let him discover what he wants on his own," her husband said, looking at her from over the newspaper he held.

"Hush, old man," she chided lightly, waving him away. "And let your witch work her magic."

Lucius let out a long-suffering sigh. "Narcissa. All of your previous witches have failed to live up to Draco's expectations. What makes you think this is any different?"

As she watched her son walk back up to the house, a smile on his face and his hands in his pockets, it occurred to her that perhaps there was more to the celibate life he had been leading. Perhaps, Draco had underplayed his feelings for Miss Granger all along. She knew they had struck up a close friendship upon his return to Hogwarts—for which she was grateful, as the witch had pulled her son from the trenches of depression he had settled into. But if there was one thing Narcissa Malfoy was, it was shrewdly perceptive.

"Because, my love, this witch set the bar for Draco's standards."

o-o-o

 _A/N: Please review. And thank you to everyone who reads and reviews, and everyone who reads silently. Sorry for the random Narcissa POV, but that scene niggled at my brain. She's so cunning and scheming…_


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2:

Draco dressed to impress as he prepared himself to meet Granger and the others at Gringotts. It had been a long while since he had gone to Diagon Alley for any reason, obtaining anything he needed through private retailers or muggle vendors. He knew who made up the Gringotts team of curse-breakers, the most well-known and highly praised team in the world. Retrieving a box full of the gifts he would bring as a peace offering, he shrank it and gave himself a careful once over.

He had dressed in a solid black suit, complete with a black buttoned shirt and black tie. He obsessively straightened and readjusted the 'M' tiepin until it looked acceptable, his hands trembling ever so slightly. Draco had traveled the world, met people from all walks of life—muggle and wizarding—and had experienced a life he could only have ever dreamed of as a sixteen-year-old Death Eater. But Hermione Granger could still reduce him to a puddle of nerves on the ground after a seven-year hiatus.

Draco had thought of her every second since she disapparated away from his home. Hell, if he were honest, he had thought of her just about every day since they had parted after graduation. Giving her up had been the hardest and most destructive thing he had done, and it had taken years to come to terms with the fact that he had made the biggest mistake of his life. But then, she waltzed through the doors of the Manor and looked like a radiant angel as she drank tea in the bright light of his tearoom.

Her presence had brought back every emotion and feeling Draco had worked so hard to repress in their years apart. Her reappearance was a shock, if nothing else. The wizard had given up all hope of ever speaking to her again. But then her neatly penned missive had been delivered on the leg of a regal snowy owl and his heart had leapt into his throat as he ran his fingers over her words. The witch was reclaiming her spot in his life, if only for a few moments during their meeting in his home.

Merlin, he had missed her. Seeing her, he realized just how much he had missed every little thing about her—the curly mass that was her hair, soft and floral in scent; the way she bit her lip as she got lost in thought; the small, secret smiles she reserved for him alone. Her laugh had been imprinted into his mind, echoed through the quiet recesses of his psyche as he lay awake on a makeshift bed, fashioned from a thin sleeping roll. As he had gazed at the bright stars and watched the Northern Lights dance over Reykjavik, memories of her brilliant smile and enchanting voice had soothed his lonesome heart. And she was back.

Taking a few steadying breaths, Draco turned on his heel and apparated, landing outside of the wizarding bank with little more than a stumble. His eyes searched the storefronts of the wizarding street, taking in some old haunts as well as a few new places that piqued his curiosity. That interest was quickly tamped down as he took in the faces of the people rushing past him. A witch to his right gasped and her eyes bulged out of her head, her skin paling as though she had seen a specter. A wizard, clad in a majestic fuchsia set of robes, glared in his direction and spat on the cobblestones at Draco's feet.

Even after a trial, strictly monitored probation, and seven years, most of the individuals who recognized him in his home country were cold or indifferent. Their attitudes had been a resounding factor in why he had taken off to begin with, intent on seeing every forbidden corner of the world.

He strode purposefully into the bank, ignoring the sidelong glances and hissing whispers as he passed. Granger had her back turned to him and was speaking with the goblin seated at the first window. The creature gave a nod in Draco's direction and Granger turned around, giving him a warm smile. "I was wondering when you would decide to grace us with your presence!"

"I was not given a time, little witch. You simply asked me to be here today and I thought mid-morning was suitable," he told her, bending to kiss her cheek.

A flush rose over her nose, causing him to smirk. He retrieved his wand from the pocket of his trousers and handed it to the goblin, who eyed him curiously and somewhat warily, though Draco suspected it was more because of his status as human, rather than because of _which_ human he was. "The team's excited to finally meet you."

Draco rolled his eyes at her muted dramatics. "I was in school with the majority of them, Granger."

"Yes, but they don't really know _you_ , do they? Only who you _were_ ," she emphasized as he took his wand from the goblin.

Draco shifted uneasily on his feet. "We've fallen out of touch these last seven years. How do _you_ know who I am anymore?" he asked quietly.

Granger looked down at her feet as she began to lead him into the belly of the bank. "I suppose I don't. I thought about that a lot after our brief meeting yesterday."

"Oh?" Draco questioned, looking around as he followed her.

She had led him down a set of tight stairs that would have made a toad claustrophobic and he could already smell the musty earth as they descended deep into the bowels of London. Granger let out a sigh, climbing into the first cart that came to a screeching halt in front of them. The air was chilly, damp and smelled of loam and organic decay as they began to descend down amidst the stalactites. Granger turned so that she was facing him, her back toward the direction they were traveling. "There's something different about you now. Something I can't put my finger on."

"You're the brightest witch I've ever met. I'm sure you'll spend our every moment together analyzing my behavior until you've figured it out," he told her, marveling at the way her eyes glittered in the dim lantern light.

The fascinated look on her face as she gazed up at him from under long lashes made his stomach flip in a way it hadn't in years. "I can't wait to catch up with you in that little bistro in New Orleans. I've thought about you a lot since we left Hogwarts," she said, her tone conversational, though she averted her stare and picked at a thread in her jumper.

Draco felt as though there was something underlying in her tone, some question she wasn't voicing aloud. _Where have you been? Why didn't you respond to my owls?_ He felt a wave of guilt wash over him and he knew he had a lot of explaining to do with regards to his behavior seven years prior.

Merlin, the Gods, Morgana— _someone_ had given him a second chance with this incredible witch and Draco knew he would have a lot of work to do if he wanted to keep her in his life this time. He had, somewhat forcefully, pushed her away and he had no idea how he was going to repair their muddied and tattered friendship. But the wizard knew he could not waste this opportunity because another was not likely to come around again in his lifetime. She was incredibly brilliant and, as he stared at her beautiful face by the pale light, he noted she had grown sexy as hell as she aged. He didn't know how on earth she was still single, how she had not been swept off her feet by a wizard years before.

All too late, Draco realized he had not spoken aloud at her confession and, as the cart rattled to a stop, Granger cleared her throat awkwardly. "Yes, well, come on into the Pit," she told him with a meek glance.

"The Pit?" he quirked an eyebrow.

"Our nickname for the office. You'll see what I mean," she told him, turning her back on him primly.

Draco nearly groaned. He was fouling this all up—already. Retrieving his box of gifts from his pocket, he followed her and watched as she dragged her wand over an inconspicuous place in the rock, a rune lighting up when she was complete. "A blood ward," she mentioned, pricking her finger and running it over the rune.

Draco hummed his approval, staring at the pattern she drew. He had always admired her wand work, the intricate spells she was capable of mastering. "Nicely done," he complimented as the rocks began to shift and made a loud grinding noise as they cleared a doorway.

Granger stepped through and Draco followed, eyeing the space around them. They stepped down another narrow stairwell and into a wide-open area. The desks were fashioned from the elements, built from large chunks of stone. Bill Weasley was positioned at the distant desk, sitting back in a chair, his feet on the desktop as he tossed a small silver ball into the air. A woman that had the faint outline of the word SNEAK scarred onto her face sat at the front desk. Draco recognized her as the Edgecomb girl whom Granger had hexed in fifth year. She looked at Hermione and Draco, her lip curled into a sneer as though she smelled something foul and Hermione gave Draco a small smirk. "Good morning, Marietta. I'm sure you remember Draco from our time at school?"

The girl simply nodded and went back to doing what appeared to be a crossword puzzle. "Marietta is our receptionist," Hermione told him, grinning as Bill rose from his chair and strode toward them.

"Administrative Assistant," Marietta and Bill said at the same time, with Bill's tone more mocking and Marietta's laced with betrayed insult.

Bill reached out and Draco took his hand, noting the scarring that was prominent over his features. "Bill Weasley. Assistant Head of the Curse-Breaking Department."

"Bill is currently on desk duty," Hermione explained as Bill rolled his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest.

"I drop _one_ rare ruby into the depths of the Amazon River and cause a flooding of the local agriculture and suddenly I'm incompetent and put on restriction," he grumbled. "I tried to dive in after it, but the piranhas were a little too active that day."

Bill turned around and lifted his shirt to expose a large area of his flesh that had been eaten away. Draco raised an eyebrow and looked to Hermione, who seemed to be smiling at a fond memory. Adrian Pucey peered around the corner and straightened up with a huge grin. "Well, well, well. If it isn't the prodigal son. Back from the far reaches of the world to help the little people."

He crossed the room and gave Draco a tight hug and a few masculine claps to the back that made Draco stumble slightly. "Pucey. Still as brutish and unrefined as ever."

Padma Patil came from the same area Pucey had, eating an apple and holding one of Draco's tomes in her other hand. "Malfoy," was her only greeting, a small cordial smile gracing her lips.

"We don't disturb her while she's reading. She's memorizing every word of what she reads," Granger explained, touching his arm. "We can't thank you enough for lending the books to us. They've been quite informative from what Padma says."

"I'm happy to help in any way I can," he told her, looking up at the cave-like structure where they stood.

The area did, in fact, resemble a pit carved into the netherworld and gave off a creepy vibe the longer he stood there. Draco shivered slightly within his suit and remembered his gifts for them all. "I got everyone a little something," he mentioned, enlarging the box and opening the lid.

"For the gentleman, bottles of aged bourbon, made by the Bampton werewolf pack at the turn of the twentieth century," he told them, retrieving three crystal decanters and handing one to Adrian and one to Bill. "The other is for Maelbrot the goblin, who I understand is Head of this Department?"

"We can use that term loosely. We all know Hermione runs the show here," Bill told him with a laugh, lifting the stopper from the decanter to sniff the contents. "Damn. This _is_ good liquor."

Draco laughed loudly and nodded. "Some of the finest this country has to offer. And for the ladies, hag-made chocolates from the heart of the Black Forest in Bavaria."

He retrieved three gold-wrapped boxes and handed one to Marietta, who eyed it greedily. He set one in front of where Padma was sitting at her desk now. "Susan Bones works here as well, correct?" he asked, holding the third box in his hand and looking around.

"I'm here!" a female voice called from behind him.

A short woman with blonde hair and a kind, pudgy face stepped into the Pit, her arms full of various potted plants. Draco assisted her by taking two and Bill took the other two. Susan worked and rolled her shoulders gratefully. "Thanks—they were getting heavy! Susan Bones," she told him, holding out her hand.

Draco noted the dirt under her fingernails with a raised eyebrow and shook the herbologist's hand. "Draco Malfoy."

"I know who you are," she told him cheerfully.

It occurred to Draco that, save Marietta, the entire team of Curse-Breakers were, in fact cheerful and seemed accepting of him coming on board their crew, for however briefly. Pucey took a swig of his bourbon and sat on the edge of the nearest desk. Bill punched him in the arm and rolled his eyes. "Drinking on the job? Let's get Maelbrot pissy first thing."

"One swig never hurt anyone," Pucey commented. "And maybe it would loosen the old gremlin up some. He walks around here like he's got a wand up his arse and we're the biggest failures he's ever had the displeasure to meet."

"I resent that," came the gravelly voice of an ancient goblin as he climbed up yet another stone staircase. "Our vaults are looking awfully empty. And you call yourselves treasure hunters."

"Actually, we call ourselves Curse-Breakers, first and foremost," Bill corrected, and Draco noticed the tense atmosphere now that the goblin had entered.

"If everyone is quite finished, we can begin discussing the matter at hand—the curse of the Laveau bloodline," the curly-haired witch said from next to Draco.

Everyone let out a collective groan and Bill huffed. "We've told you time and again that the curse is on the hairbrush."

"I happen to disagree," Granger replied curtly. "Padma, if you could stop reading for a moment, it would be helpful to have your input."

Padma looked over the edge of her book and then back down at the pages. "The curse is in the hairbrush."

Granger pursed her lips and Draco noticed that everyone seemed to disagree with her. "Well, that's why I'm here," he said, placing a hand low on Hermione's back. "To determine whether it's a bloodline curse or if it's a cursed trinket. Let's start from the beginning."

Susan hopped up and sat on Marietta's desk. Adrian and Bill were side by side still, Maelbrot looked grouchy as he eyed Draco's large platinum watch. The goblin looked as though he wanted to abandon them all and return to the vaults to touch their collection of spoils. Granger began to pace.

"Marie Laveau was the proclaimed Voodoo Queen of New Orleans. Her teachings and practice were steeped in Catholicism and African spiritualism and rootwork, creating a new flair to New Orleans Voodoo. She also happened to own a beauty parlor that catered to the wealthy members of society," the brunette witch told him, her hands clasped behind her back as she paced.

Draco simply nodded at Granger's dissertation. "And the hairbrush?"

"It is rumored that she used a hairbrush, carved from the femur of a lioness and gifted to her by a poor individual she is purported to have cured of leprosy. I suppose it is more than a rumor, at this point, as we were contacted by the Laveau family directly. They keep trying to rid themselves of the implement—for over a century since her death, the members of her bloodline have tried burning it, tossing it into Lake Pontchartrain with cinder blocks to weigh it down, giving it away to others. Nothing they do is successful in the end—the hairbrush miraculously finds its way back to them."

"And the fact that it always ends up in their possession and cannot be kept by anyone else is why you believe it to be a curse in the blood line?" Draco questioned.

"Precisely. The American Curse-Breakers questioned non-Laveau owners of the hairbrush and they reported nothing out of the ordinary about it—other than it being fashioned from bone. But the Laveaus claim to hear whispers and screams emanating from it. In the 1950's, one of Laveau's great-great-great-granddaughters tried to burn it in a ritualized disposal on her farm. The fire spread and the barn set ablaze, killing the milking cows housed within. When the fire was contained, the hairbrush lay in the middle of the field, unscathed. Not a single singe mark. The bristles were completely intact," Granger finished, looking up at him, searching him for his reaction.

"But nothing strange takes place with any other holders of the trinket? Other than the fact that they end up losing possession of it eventually?" he asked, furrowing his brow as he scanned his brain for any other tale remotely close to this he may have read or heard about.

"Nothing at all. The last outside owner of the hairbrush was a private collector of dark artifacts. He claims to have been sorely misled on the history of the item," she replied.

"But there is nothing terrible that takes place within the Laveau family, beyond everyday life, when the hairbrush is not in their possession. If their entire bloodline were cursed, don't you think there would be some instance of a terrible accident or a brutal murder in the times in between?" Bill countered, still sounding skeptical.

Draco nodded along with him, his own line of questioning following along that vein. "What if it is a combination of both a blood curse and an artifact curse? What if it is their blood that brings out the damned aspect of the brush?"

"You think whatever is infesting the brush is activated by their bloodline?" Maelbrot voiced gruffly. "So, bring the brush here, we can pick it apart and find out what exactly is housed within."

Draco noted the greedy glint in his eye as he, no doubt, thought of how precious something made of rare bone would be and how much he could likely receive from Borgin and Burkes for such a rarity. "I think we should go to New Orleans, as you suggested," Draco told Granger, "and we should see how it reacts with the Laveau descendants and then how it reacts with each of us. A bloodline curse would cause violent reactions if it were truly that. You say there was a fire, but has anything else happened?"

"Most recently, a female descendant used it to comb her hair while she was pregnant. She lost the baby the next morning. They have started keeping it in a trunk, chained closed and buried in the backyard on the swamp lines. They've reported hearing a loud howling at night, coming from the area of the burial site, but they're too scared to investigate further," Bill told him. "The strange circumstances surrounding the hairbrush are becoming increasingly more terrifying for the poor people."

Draco mulled over the slew of information they had given him, trying to piece together a puzzle he only had half of the pieces to. "I say we leave tomorrow. They've been dealing with this for, what, a hundred and twenty-five years? No point in keeping them lying in wait, wondering what fate will befall them next."

Hermione and Padma nodded thoughtfully. Bill and Adrian pounded their fists together, grinning like maniacal twins. "Told you he'd be willing to go. If for nothing more than to follow after Hermione here," Adrian said, running a fingertip down along Hermione's forearm as he looked straight into Draco's eyes.

The blond wizard shot him a death glare as Granger turned on her heel and smacked Pucey, rolling her eyes with a grin of her own as she looked back to Draco. "I am amazed that you agreed so quickly."

 _I want to spend time with you._ "This case is quite the intrigue. And it will give me an excuse to visit the fine people of New Orleans once more," Draco told her with a shrug.

"Why were you in America?" Pucey questioned, looking at his fellow pureblood as though he had lost his mind.

"A little of this and a little of that," was all Draco gave up.

"Don't think we're paying you a single Knut for your time here. Our budget is strained as it is," Maelbrot told him and Draco waved his hand.

"I don't need the money," he told him with a arrogant smirk.

"So, who's going?" Bill asked hopefully, standing up straight.

"Not you, Weasley, sit back down," Maelbrot shot at him. "Before I have to dredge another body of water and hire a team of hundred herbologists to restore another village's agriculture."

"One time," Bill groaned. "It was one _fucking_ time."

He shook his head, his fang earring bouncing wildly, as he walked back to his desk to mope. Draco laughed lightly at his antics and watched as Bill snuck a nip of his bourbon behind the goblin's back.

Padma cleared her throat. "I'm nearly done reading the stack of books you gave us yesterday. I could dictate some notes to a modified quick quotes quill and have notes for you by tomorrow morning."

"I gave you eight books," Draco mentioned incredulously, to which Padma simply shrugged.

"I read quickly," she told him, returning to her , she had no desire to travel.

Pucey stood from his place at the desk. "Bones needs to dissect those bits of kelp. And, besides, you'll need someone whose first career was in healing magical maladies, just in case," he said, winking in Granger's direction.

Draco noted the way Granger put her nose into the air haughtily. "Get hurt often, Granger?" he questioned, tugging at a loose curl.

"More like I…get into a bit of a bind every now and then. Nothing like Bill over there." She pointed to the redhead who blew her a smart-arsed kiss.

"You can say that again," Maelbrot replied, hobbling back toward the stairs leading down to the vault. "Granger and Pucey, accompany Malfoy to the new country. And for the love of Merlin, don't ruin the city. And bring back that brush—it'll make a nice addition to the collection."

With that the goblin grumbled until he disappeared, and Bill harrumphed. "Miserable little bastard."

Draco laughed again, finding that he quite liked the older Weasley. He turned to Pucey who was eyeing Granger with thinly-veiled interest as she leaned over Padma's desk. He felt a surge of irritation that he fought to swallow down. "So, you trained as a Healer before this? How the hell did you end up here?"

Pucey turned to him and gave him an agitating smirk, signature of their former House. "I finally figured out that I had no desire to magically wipe people's arses for the rest of my life. I needed a change of scenery. I ran into Granger there on one of her more…intense visits to St. Mungo's and she mentioned they needed someone trained in Healing to assist individuals affected by curses. And voila—" he held his arms out to his sides, palms up "—here I am."

Draco looked toward Granger who, almost intuitively, looked over her shoulder to where he stood and gave him one of her pretty, life-brightening smiles. Merlin save him, she was already enchanting him once more. There was the sound of a series of bells chiming and Edgecomb, who had kept quiet up to this point, sighed, snapping her puzzle book shut. "And, here we go," she whined, sitting back in her chair and looking more like a petulant child than a grown woman.

Padma hopped up from her chair and put the book onto the desk, the first time she had looked away from the pages since Draco arrived. Pushing the entryway stones aside, she grinned as Pansy Parkinson waltzed through the door, planting a kiss flush on Padma's lips. "How is my best girl?" Pansy asked, wrapping her arm around Padma's shoulders.

She stopped mid-stride when she caught sight of Draco and her face broke into a wide, mischievous beam. "Malfoy, you fucker, get over here," she told him, breaking away from her girlfriend long enough to wrap her arms around Draco in a tight hug. "You missed the last dinner," she said accusingly as she pulled away.

"I was in Cape Town," was all he supplied, warmth flooding him as he regarded one of his oldest friends.

"Ah yes. The vagabond." She laughed mirthfully, throwing her arm around Padma once more. "Here to broaden your horizons?" she questioned, tossing a glance in Granger's direction.

Draco shot her a murderous glare, silently warning her not to mention it again in Granger's presence. When his mother had tried, unsuccessfully, to push Draco and Pansy into a courtship, they had gone on the obligatory dates. But they spent most of the nights lying on the rooftop of Parkinson Manor, watching the stars, smoking cigarettes and talking. He had not been forthcoming in revealing his desperate crush on the bookworm, but Pansy had a knack for guessing.

"Granger asked me for assistance," Draco told her, his tone clipped and cautionary.

"Yes, of course," Pansy conceded, turning her attention to Edgecomb.

"Sneak! It's good to see you again," she chimed happily, to which Edgecomb touched the pock marks across her nose self-consciously.

"Parkinson. You shouldn't be down here—I don't know why you think silly things like _rules_ don't apply to you," Edgecomb told her.

"It helps to know the right people," Pansy told her, wrapping a lock of Padma's coal-colored hair around her finger. "I can't stay long as it is—"

"Need to sacrifice some small children?" the sneak questioned in a condescending and antagonizing manner.

Granger walked up to Draco, an exasperated look on her face. "Let's get out of here. It's the same argument between these two every day. Pansy insults her looks and hits her where it hurts most—her vanity. Sneak comes up with some weak insult about Pansy being pure evil—probably not too far from the truth—"

"I love you, too, Granger," Pansy called from Padma's desk as she took a bite of the apple.

Granger laughed lightly and looped her arm through Draco's. "I'll get you back to Diagon Alley," she told him pleasantly, her mood seemingly having lifted after his half-agreeance with her theory.

They ascended from the Pit and back up to where a cart was waiting to bring them back to the surface. "You don't think I'm crazy, do you?" she asked as he helped her into the cart.

He sat across from her, his legs brushing against hers, and shook his head. "Not at all. I'm genuinely excited to be heading out tomorrow. And I am humbled that you thought to ask me, given the time that has passed."

She smiled and tucked a curl behind her ear. "Sometimes it feels like seven years, and then other times, it feels like no time at all. I can still remember all those late nights in the library, studying for Arithmancy."

"All those mornings pruning back the winter-blooming angel's hair in the greenhouses," he agreed, remembering the times fondly.

"I was still the better pupil," she teased in a manner that he knew was meant to rile him up.

"Hmm, I seem to recall me beating you in not one, not two, but _three_ of our N.E. ," he challenged, and her eyes darkened as she glared at him playfully.

"I was war-weary."

The defiance in her tone was enough to make Draco want to get her fired up, maybe start a jesting but passionate row. "Ah, yes. My time during the war was nothing but sunshine and daisies," he countered, one eyebrow raised.

She sobered, and he aimed to move them away from such sensitive topics. With a tap of his knuckles against her knee, he drew her attention to him in the present. "Can I take you to dinner tomorrow? We've got a lot of catching up to do."

"Are you finally going to tell me why you disappeared into thin air?" Granger asked, looking up at him.

In the dim lantern light, he saw her trying to put forth a sprightly countenance, but he could see the underlying hurt in her eyes. He felt the guilt run through him once more. _I will make this up to you. I promise._ "It's not a particularly interesting story, but I'll tell you whatever you want to know," he told her, and he could hear the sounds of the bank filtering down to them as the cart came to a halt.

Draco assisted her as she climbed out of the cart and she led him to the door into Gringotts. She hesitated slightly and turned to him, her back against the door. "I look forward to working with you again. I know we'll be unstoppable, the two of us together. We worked so cohesively before," Granger mentioned, a flush spreading across her face.

Draco stepped in to where she stood, her scent clouding his mind. "You always looked lovely with a little color staining your cheeks," he told her, trickling his fingertips over one of them. "And we'll dominate this shit. Show Maelbrot a thing or two, that's for sure."

Granger huffed a laugh, her chest rising and falling in their close proximity. Draco took a step back—she would never accept him just yet. He had to show her that he was remorseful and that he had changed significantly in their time apart. He took her hand and tucked it into his elbow once more, stepping through the doors and into the bright light of the bank. Patrons eyed them curiously as they strode past the tellers and out into Diagon Alley. "Oh, and I didn't forget you," he told her, reaching into his pocket.

Granger furrowed her brow, clearly confused by his statement. He pulled a small velvet bag from his pocket and began pulling at the drawstrings. "I gave everyone else a small token of my gratitude for accepting me so readily. I didn't forget you."

Granger was clearly still befuddled. "I didn't even notice, to be honest."

Draco retrieved a small ivory elephant on the end of a black rope. He held it in his palm and showed her. "I was given this by a peasant I befriended in Kashmir when I traveled through the region on foot. It's a protective charm, imbued with ancient magic. I don't know how protective it really is—but I'm alive and well," he told her, running his hands over his chest and abdomen as if to present himself as evidence.

Granger lifted a single finger and touched the tiny carved elephant charm. "It's beautiful."

"You don't have to wear it, but I'd like you to have it. Maybe you'll have to take less trips to St. Mungo's," he teased her, and her eyes flitted up to his.

Drawing her lip between her teeth in a way that had driven him crazy in his late teenage years, she turned and lifted her hair. He pulled the necklace on, fastening the clasp and then smoothing a single fingertip over it, causing gooseflesh to rise over her bare neck and to where her shoulders sloped into her jumper. When she turned around to face him once more, her face was an endearing shade of bright scarlet. "I'll meet you at the Manor tomorrow at noon. Adrian will go ahead to sweep the hotel—make sure there's no threats."

Though he wanted nothing more than to spend the entire day in her intoxicating presence, Draco gave the witch a single nod and stepped back, lifting one hand in a wave goodbye as he apparated away. He had to repeatedly tell himself that there would be time in New Orleans for him to apologize profusely.

o-o-o

 _A/N: A lot of dialogue, but it sets up the mission they are going on. I'm also humbled by the response I received. I'll try to send personal responses to signed reviews. Please don't feel obligated to respond or even read them. But I know a few readers enjoy receiving them. Please review! Beta love to_ _ **CourtingInsanity**_ _! You are amazing, doll!_


	3. Chapter 3

_Author's Note: Ah. In the Crescent City for the next few chapters. I felt strange writing about them here and decided that I really missed my main man, Henri (for those of you who have read the original Properly In Love). I hope you enjoy!_

Chapter 3:

Hermione arrived at Malfoy Manor the next day, all of her travel belongings packed neatly into a messenger bag outfitted with an extension charm. When she opened her eyes she was pleasantly surprised to find that Draco was already waiting for her on the other side of the wrought iron gate. When he saw her approaching, he leaned his forehead against the bars, wrapping his hands around them. _Fitting that he should look like he's in prison—it's criminal how good he still looks after all this time._ With that thought, Hermione had to stifle a nervous giggle.

"Something funny, Granger?" he asked, peeking at her from between the bars with a grin on his face.

"Nothing at all," she told him, and he opened the gates to allow her access.

Though it was not quite raining yet, lightning lit up the sky and a crack of thunder sounded in the distance. Draco held out his hand to her. "Let's do it the easy way this time."

A fat raindrop plopped between her eyes and she flinched just as they disapparated. Draco breathed a laugh as he reached up and swiped at the droplet of moisture. Hermione could feel the heat radiating from his body in their close proximity and his fresh and clean scent filled her mind with positively sinful thoughts. It took a moment to be released from his spell and take note of where he had brought them.

They were standing in the middle of what could only be his bedchambers. Unlike the rest of the home, this area was still decorated in dark tones of coal, emerald, and silver. His bed was large and made of mahogany that she suspected had been shorn from an ancient tree. The four posts were massive, standing to almost twice her height and the bed could easily fit an entire Quidditch team. It was neatly made with an obsidian-colored blanket, an intricately stitched, silvery 'M' intertwined with dueling snakes covering the middle. Hermione swallowed hard, feeling the setting was far too intimate, his bed far too inviting.

She turned her back toward it only to discover one long wall was lined with glass cases, illuminated from within. Draco was busying himself with his suitcase as she stepped closer to the vitrines. Encased within were varying items from different eras of time and factions of the world. His collection would make any museum curator's mouth water. Hermione stepped in close and, as though drawn to the display, she placed her fingertips against the glass and stared down at a fragment of what she assumed was animal bone that had been carved into a crude whistle.

His footsteps echoed against the marble as he approached. "I picked that up in Madagascar three years ago. The locals believed it was bringing cobras—a species not indigenous to the island—around to kill their children and cattle."

"It's cursed?" she asked him, already itching to get it out of its entombment and unravel the mystery surrounding it.

"It gives off some dark vibrations," he commented, standing next to her with his hands clasped behind his back thoughtfully.

Hermione raised a brow at him and continued down the line, looking at his trinkets. He would stop every so often and point out an item, giving her a little insight to each. Draco was clearly well-travelled, well-known in the world of oddities and rare dark artifacts—a fact that intrigued her, as she had never come across his name on any paperwork at Gringotts or the Ministry. "Draco, are these relics registered?" she questioned, knowing full well there was no way he had brought everything into the country legally without her knowing.

The wizard hummed thoughtfully. "It helps to know whose hands to grease, Granger. Are you going to arrest me? Issue me citations?"

Hermione clamped her jaw shut, agitated that he never wanted to play by the rules, even well into adulthood. "These could be potentially dangerous, Draco," she argued as he turned away, a knocking at the far end catching her attention.

"Hence the magically-strengthened, tempered glass. Completely shatter-proof, and no dark magic can get through to wreak havoc on me or my life," he commented, rapping his knuckles against it to prove his point.

Her lips pursed, Hermione put her hands on her hips. "You could get time in Azkaban for this many infractions," she told him, waving one hand toward the glass.

"I always did like it when you'd get spitting angry with me. You look splendid all huffy and out of breath," he told her in his silky tone, a slight shake of his head. "Calm down, Granger. You'll find every one of my items has a certificate of ownership, on file with the Ministry."

"I specialize in dark and cursed artifacts, Malfoy. How is it you could possibly slip beneath my radar?" she demanded, following him to where he was stuffing socks into his suitcase.

"As I mentioned before, I know precisely whom I need to charm, pay, or dine to keep my name out of the limelight. And not everything is cursed; some are just interesting little items I managed to find in my journeys. Like that necklace resting between your collarbones," Draco told her, his tone telling her the conversation was over and he had won this round of the argument.

Hermione clamped her jaw shut, peering back at the truly magnificent collection he had wrought over the last several years. She was already formulating the argument she would have with Bill Weasley—who ran Draco's background check—when they got back to Britain. She touched the elephant charm, sensing the pure, ancient magic that ran through it. It soothed her, and she could almost imagine Draco wearing it as he lay under the stars in the valleys of Kashmir. Everything about him had grown to be a mystery and she longed to riddle it out, figure out who he had become and where he had been, how his life had been shaped by his experiences.

Knowing the discussion about his collection was far from over—merely paused for now—she moved to a desk along his far wall. The rest of the room was pristine, save this desk. Parchment and open books were strewn about the table top, a cauldron with a murky gold substance perched in the middle. Different instruments and tools she did not recognize filled in the gaps.

"That damn Soots. She should have had this packed for me this morning, but she's too busy plotting our wedding with my mother," the wizard lamented, smacking his palms against his thighs in frustration.

"Draco?" Hermione voiced quietly. The blond, distracted by his overflowing suitcase, simply hummed in response. "What is all of this?" Hermione asked, moving a few pieces of parchment to reveal an open book beneath.

Symbols she recognized only from her Ancient Runes studies littered the page and it was written entirely in Latin. Looking over some of the different items and back at the book, her eyes widened, and she dropped his parchment back atop the book, moving away slightly. "Do you study alchemy?" the witch queried, unable to keep the fascination from her voice. "Is that what you've been doing all this time?"

"I dabble here and there, as a side hobby," he told her, finally waving his wand at his suitcase to shrink it to palm-sized. "Let's get out of—"

"Draco, darling!" came the sing-song chirp of Narcissa Malfoy as she strode into the room. "Oh, and Miss Granger as well! What a pleasant surprise!"

"Yes, because the blood wards didn't alert you to her arrival half an hour ago," Draco replied, rolling his eyes as he sat on the edge of the bed, clearly looking for his mother to begin a tirade.

Hermione glanced between the two, mother and son, and found that, while he looked more like Lucius, his mannerisms were nearly the same as his mother's. They wore identical frowns and Hermione had to keep from laughing at them. Narcissa, a strained smile on her lips, turned to Hermione. "Miss Granger, Soots and I were just discussing how lovely it would be if you could take tea with us in the gardens. The damask roses found a second wind and have opened quite splendidly," Lady Malfoy told her, giving her a friendly smile that clearly told Hermione that she would be having tea amidst those roses very soon.

"I would love to, Mrs. Malfoy—"

"Narcissa."

"—Narcissa. But we really _must_ be going," Hermione told her politely, watching as Soots disapparated and the reappeared a few moments later.

"The damasks were always Master Draco's favorite, Miss," Soots told her, motioning for Hermione to lean down to her height.

Hermione did, and the elf tucked a freshly-snipped white rose over her ear. Narcissa clapped her hands together and placed a hand on Draco's shoulder. "Doesn't Miss Granger look _lovely_ , Darling?"

Before Draco could speak a word, Narcissa was gliding toward Hermione, her hands outstretched. "I'm sorry to see you both rush out of here, but I understand that you have business out of the country. When you return, I shall owl you and set up a time for tea. How does that sound?"

There was something in the way Narcissa Malfoy stared at her, a compelling edge to the elder witch that Hermione found enticing and hard to deny. "Sure. When we get home, I'd be happy to visit."

Narcissa's face split into a kind smile, elegant and regal even as the wrinkles sprouted from the corners of her eyes. "Draco is _quite_ the knowledgeable and wizened young man, Miss Granger. Perhaps he can regale you with his tales of traveling over dinner?" She turned to her son, who looked as if he longed to fall into a dark abyss.

"Soots, I do believe it's past father's lunchtime, don't you? Please escort Mother to the dining hall and serve her before she weakens," Draco instructed, his face bright red as Soots took Narcissa's hand.

"Do show Miss Granger that I raised you with the utmost level of manners and chivalry, Draco," his mother reminded him unnecessarily as she breezed from the room with Soots.

"Of course, Mother," he chimed, rolling his eyes once they were alone once more.

Hermione sat next to him on the edge of the bed, her leg brushing his. "Your mother seems invested in your happiness," she told him, staring at the open door the witch had just exited through.

"She's assessing you, trying to get you here, in a non-official capacity. I'm sorry she's so nosy," he began with a sigh. "But she's always been this way. My mother can't accept that I didn't do the typical Pureblood thing."

"Which is?" Hermione questioned, watching as he combed a hand through his hair.

His golden locks flopped back over his forehead attractively and he grinned widely. The dimples in his cheeks made her stomach flip. "Marry a witch by the age of twenty, have my singular male heir, work a stuffy job at the ministry or follow in my father's investing footsteps. You know. The usual."

"Sounds dreadfully boring," Hermione acquiesced, looking away from his steel grey eyes as they searched her own brown ones.

"It is. That's why I tried my parents' way at first. Clearly, that didn't go too well, and I went out on my own after that," he told her, standing and offering his hand as he did.

Hermione felt the international portkey heat up in her pocket, signaling that it was nearing time. She pulled it from her pocket and unwrapped it—a tiny, handmade doll, fashioned to mimic a voodoo doll. "Your friend Theo has a sense of humor," Hermione told him, wrinkling her nose at the item.

"There is the perfect example of Pureblood upbringing—married Ginny Weasley by the time he was twenty. Two children—though, let's be honest, she'd be happy with more. Works a menial job at the Ministry in the Department of Magical Transportation, while also running a profitable gentleman's club, making him independently wealthy and carrying on the Nott legacy like a perfect specimen of Pureblood male," Draco told her, watching as a faint glow surrounded the doll.

"Yes, but he married a _blood traitor_ ," she countered.

Draco waved his hand. "Nott Sr. is imprisoned for life. Theo's free to do what he pleases, even if he did follow the straight path."

She watched as he shrugged, looking intently at the doll. "Are you ready for this?" Hermione asked him, the usual excitement she felt before a new assignment bubbling within her.

Draco touched a single finger to the poppet and looked at her from under long eyelashes. "I'm ready whenever you are," he replied, and Hermione sensed there was an underlying message in his words, if the twinkle in his eye was any indicator.

Hermione ran her thumb over the doll's belly and as the squelching sensation began in her abdomen, she clenched her eyes shut. They landed with a harsh thud a minute later, and when they did Hermione still felt as though she were free falling, her stomach somewhere up near her throat. Draco put a hand under her elbow to brace her. "Still easily motion sick, I see."

Hermione narrowed her eyes at him and straightened her blazer hem and cuffs. "Only marginally."

She looked around them and found that they were in the middle of a cemetery. Above ground crypts were all around, some looking as though they were aged well over a hundred years, a few cracks and crumbles in the foundations. Hermione quickly scanned her surroundings, her wand drawn as she looked between mausoleums and stone statues. "Where are we? Why would Theo send us _here?_ "

Draco furrowed his brow, glancing down a long street toward a graffitied tomb. "Who requested the portkey?" he asked, his tone even and contemplative.

"Padma. She said she would handle all of the paperwork in getting us here—"

"Then this must be an important site. Do you see that crypt down past the lamppost? The one with the writing all over it? If I'm not mistaken, that is Madam Laveau's," he told her, walking in that direction, his wand drawn as well.

Hermione could not shake the feeling of being watched, though she saw no one around them. " _Homenum revelio!"_ she hissed, trying to find if they were, in fact, being tracked or watched.

The trace found no one but she and Draco, surrounded by a city of the dead, all enshrined in their eternal homes. "This place is spooky," she muttered, catching up to Draco in no time at all.

He stood in front of a tomb, marked all over with _XXX_ and crumbling around the edges. Before it, candles had been placed and other random items, including a few rosaries and prayer cards, a basket of fresh fruit and a corn husk doll. "Why would Padma have us land here?" Hermione questioned, reaching out to touch a particularly red set of x's.

As soon as her fingers made contact with the stone, the feeling that they were being monitored increased tenfold, settling in her gut and making her intuition react violently. "To begin where it all started?" Draco offered, placing his hand on her lower back and guiding her away from the tomb. "Let's get to the hotel. We're supposed to meet Pucey and the MACUSA agents in a few minutes."

Draco led her, watching and peering down every street as they went. The further they got from that decaying tomb, the lighter she began to feel, a blanket of angst and darkness being lifted from her shoulders. "The hairbrush isn't even around here and I'm already feeling something lurking just under the surface," Draco told her, his usual cheery disposition slipping into an old countenance that had once haunted his features.

"Are you okay?" Hermione asked him, stopping him just as they exited the cemetery gates onto the streets of New Orleans.

"Why wouldn't I be?" he asked, a tight smile stretching across his face, though it did not reach his eyes.

"You collect Dark artifacts…this isn't going to be hard for you, is it? Being around the Dark magic?" she questioned.

 _Fuck, Hermione. Good going!_ She felt ashamed that she had not given a single thought to the way the saturation of Dark magic would make him feel. Draco cleared his throat and shook his head. "No. As you said—I've collected different baubles and trinkets imbued with evil. Sometimes, I just feel that despair and it sets me back for a minute. It makes my Mark tingle to this day."

He touched the place on his left forearm where she knew the charcoal colored outline of his Mark rested. Hermione put her hand over it, just as she had done all those years ago when Draco had claimed the stigma ached. He had always told her that her touch was _magical_. That she had the power to soothe and heal him with nothing more than her fingertips. He clearly remembered those nights in the library, on the Quidditch pitch, in the Gryffindor common room. They had become so familiar, so tender. With his presence in her life once more, Hermione found herself again wondering where things went wrong. She had been foolish and naïve enough to think that they were headed into a relationship that last year in school and she found that there was still a smoldering hope in her heart for just that, no matter the time that had lapsed.

"This way, little witch. I know the way from here," Draco told her, straightening his back and striding along confidently, the moment passing as he placed her hand in his elbow to escort her.

Hermione was delighted as Draco seemed to bring her the long route to the hotel. The air was warm and sultry, not quite hot in the late October sun. Every inch of the city was bustling. Trollies drove past, tourists within snapping photos at all of the old architecture. A carriage, drawn by a pair of jet black horses, breezed past, the _clop! clop! Clop!_ of their hooves lulling the couple into a sprightlier mood. A makeshift jazz band played on the corner opposite where they stood, a crowd gathered around as people clapped and danced.

"This is amazing! The energy buzzing all around us!" Hermione nearly squealed as she tried to take in every sight all at once.

Draco chuckled and pointed up to a classically designed building, painted in a muted shade of rose. "That's where I'm taking you for dinner," he told her confidently, patting her hand where it rested on his arm.

"Who says anything about dinner in a fancy restaurant? I thought we were going to have coffee in a bistro," Hermione challenged as they passed a food truck offering " _Louisiana's Best Gator Gumbo. Family Owned and Operated Since 1975!"_

"Hush. You agreed to a catch-up date, and so, I shall take you where I see fit," he told her, and she could see him fighting a smile in her peripheral.

Hermione's stomach did a little somersault at the way he said ' _date'_ and looked up at the restaurant. St. Augustine's. She could hardly wait to be alone with him, to find out where he had been, what he had seen and done, why he had left. _Why he left me_. She shook her head of those thoughts and strived to take enjoyment in the fact that he was around now.

Draco reached into his pocket and retrieved a small scrap of plastic. Upon further inspection, she realized it was a camera. He glanced around them, and finding no one paying them any mind, he whispered, " _Engorgio!"_ and the implement grew to its usual size.

"Can I take a photo of you, Granger?" he asked, holding up the camera and raising an eyebrow.

"A photo? Of me?" she asked, feeling anxious. "Why? Getting sentimental?"

"I always take photos of my travels. Always. I have dozens of photo albums at home I'd love to show you—if you'd like to see them. There's so much beauty in the world around us, and I'd love a photo of you in this incredible setting to remember this day," he told her, looking down at the camera and hiding his face bashfully.

Hermione could tell that he was embarrassed all of a sudden and she wondered if he kept his photography to himself, never letting others in on his secret. "Where would you like me to stand?" she asked him, looking around them to find somewhere picturesque.

Draco glanced around and seemed to spot the perfect place. "There, right in front of that railing there," he pointed to an intricately designed white iron railing surrounding an outdoor patio.

Hanging baskets of flowers and greenery hung from the second-floor balcony, creating a peaceful ambience. He smiled at her, looking at her with his head cocked to the side and one eye closed. "Okay, now lean back against it and drape your arm over it and look to the side," he instructed, and she did as she was told.

"Try not to look so stiff, Granger. Pretend you are just people watching, glancing down the road at that carriage there," Draco told her, pointing to another carriage a pace down the street.

Hermione loosened her pose and tried to appear more casual, cocking her hip and using her hand to pull her hair over one shoulder. "Okay, now look from that carriage to me, smiling as you do," Draco said, and he looked into the camera and took the photo as she obeyed his soft command.

He lowered the camera and waited patiently as a picture began to emerge from the bottom. Hermione sauntered over to where he stood and glanced over his arm from beside him. "Damn, Granger, you look positively radiant!" he complimented, handing her the photograph.

Hermione had to admit, it was the best photograph she had seen of herself in a long while. She looked casual and the look she gave as she moved her head to face his direction was smoldering. The damask rose framed her face lovingly. "You have a gift, Draco. Bringing me, the unphotogenic bookworm, back to life—color in my cheeks, my hair catching the sunlight in just the right way. Let's see if you can replicate this success in any more photos you take of me."

She did not miss the way Draco's eyes flashed and his tongue grazed along his bottom lip as he tucked the photo into his back pocket and put the camera strap around his neck. They walked closely for another few minutes until Draco finally stopped in front of a massive, quaintly romantic looking home. "Here we are," he told her, pointing to the curly letters proclaiming, _Olivier-Montreux Bed and Breakfast._

"We need to meet Adrian in room five—" Hermione glanced at her watch "—about ten minutes ago."

They went into the home and were met with the same pleasant quaintness inside that the outside had held. The house was massive, supposedly sporting fifteen rooms. Adrian had been in charge of obtaining the lodging, and he always had a flair for the cozy, homey places. This was no exception. Everything was decorated with practical yet classic and beautiful touches. An elderly man named Clarence, dressed in a simple flannel and jeans with a 'Saints' hat pulled over his bald head, took their payment and gave them their keys.

"We will go to room five first, meet with the MACUSA agents and then we can settle in," Hermione instructed, her authoritative tone coming out now as she once again remembered they were in this magical city on business.

"Lead the way, madam," Draco told her, gesturing toward the staircase.

Hermione rapped on the door when she arrived at room five—three times in quick succession, twice with a beat between, then five times evenly. Adrian appeared, looking mighty peeved to see the pair. "You're late," he accused, opening the door wider to reveal two more individuals in the room.

"You're right and we're sorry," Hermione told him, pushing past him and holding out her hand to the other two individuals. "Our portkey had us landing in the cemetery where Marie Laveau is laid to rest. Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy."

The MACUSA agents—a miffed-looking red-haired woman of about forty and a bored-looking man who sat casually back in his chair like he hadn't a care in the world. They reminded Hermione of Scully and Mulder and the thought made her stifle a laugh as she shook their hands. "Gerald Craven—" the redhead gestured to her partner "—and Tess Thorne. We need to get down to it. This isn't our only case working right now," she told Hermione snootily.

"Apparently, it's a case you aren't working at all, if you're calling us in from across the pond," Draco corrected coolly, leaning back against the desk and folding his arms across his chest.

Thorne shot him a look that would make most men wither, but Draco stared right back with a challenge written on his face. Hermione smiled slightly and sat on the desk edge next to him. "So, begin. We've come a long way to be here."

"To save your sorry arses," Adrian muttered, sitting on the edge of his bed as the two agents settled into their chairs.

"Look, we aren't looking for a pissing contest. We, along with the Laveau family, called on you for help because we acknowledge that your group is the finest in the world. That being said, we have interviewed the family time and again and have gotten nowhere quickly. They will not allow us to dig the hairbrush up for fear of it unleashing its wrath," Craven responded, retrieving a briefcase from the floor by his feet.

"A hairbrush is an inanimate object. We need to get to the root of the curse, as it was clearly placed upon it by someone," Hermione argued, moving closer as Craven laid photos out across the bed.

"What are these?" Adrian questioned, picking up the photo closest to where he sat.

"Evidence we've collected," Thorne told him, pulling small vials from the briefcase as well. "Photos, memories, blood samples."

Draco leaned around Hermione, lifting a vial of blood to the light and staring at it. "Tell us everything."

"To begin, we need to go back in time, to 1881, when Marie Laveau died and was entombed in that mausoleum," Thorne told them, pointing to a photograph of a painting of the woman in question.

"Tomorrow, we will bring you to speak with the family and they can give you their first-hand accounts of everything they've experienced, but for now, let's take a look at the timeline Tess and I have created," Craven told them, unraveling a scroll of parchment and making it spread from the head of the bed to the foot.

Hermione bent over it and her jaw dropped, each tick on the timeline relaying some gruesome piece of the family's history. "How can one family survive all of this?" she asked, her vision darting from the early 1900's, where Montrell Laveau was hacked into pieces by a scorned lover.

"Unwavering perseverance and a headstrong New Orleans toughness," Craven responded.

o-o-o

Hermione's room was warm and inviting when she got back from her shower. It was small but filled with comfortable furniture and a window nook that would be perfect for watching people mull about in the streets below. Twilight overtook the sky outside, casting roses and golds into a violet sky and the streets were filled with people of all kinds, a hustle and bustle that reminded her of Hogsmeade that first weekend in October.

She was to meet Draco in forty-five minutes, a time she _refused_ to be late for. Hermione looked through the clothing she had brought with her—all trousers and buttoned blouses. Work apparel. Boring, conservative, unattractive. Looking at them all, she regretted not bringing at least one piece of fun-appropriate clothing. Hermione sighed and pulled on a red button down with tiny white polka dots, buttoning it begrudgingly in front of the mirror.

The hem fell just below her hips, contrasting prettily with the olive tone of her skin and she glared at it in the mirror. Retrieving her wand from the bedside table, she brought the hem to fall a little more than mid-way down her thighs. Still unsatisfied with her expedient solution to a dress, she pulled a belt around her waist. Hermione lifted her mouth into a sneer and groaned. It would have to do. As she dried her hair with the towel, section by section, she slipped her feet into a low pair of heels.

Her hair fell in an abundant curtain of curls over her shoulders and back and the witch frowned at her appearance once more. Hermione had never been one for cosmetics, save a little mascara here or a little lipstick there, neither of which she had brought with her on a business excursion. Damn Draco Malfoy for tricking her into a full dinner.

With five minutes to spare, Hermione tousled her curls with her fingers. A squirt of her favorite fragrance into the air coated her skin as she stepped through it. What did it matter what she looked like anyway? She had never cared before. Hermione shook her head, clearing it of the doubts and tucked her wand into the pocket of her extended blouse.

Draco was already waiting in the hall outside of her room when she exited. He had opted for a pair of dark wash denims and a solid black buttoned shirt with no tie. The top button was undone, casually exposing his collar and neck tantalizingly. In his hand he held a small, velvet wrapped package in his hand. "What, no flowers, Mr. Pureblood Upbringing?" Hermione teased, and his responding smile was enough to make her legs wobble.

Draco held up the fold of velvet in his hand. Hermione lifted the top fold to reveal a beautifully carved and painted jonquil flower. He plucked it from its encasement and vanished the velvet, lifting the trinket to pin it to her blouse. "This one, I made myself. _Narcissus jonquilla_. This is the first one I made; my mother has the second one—the perfected one. But this one," he mentioned, and she could feel the warmth of his fingers graze along the hollow at the base of her neck as he pinned the brooch to her blouse, "has imperfections that make it unique. One of the petals is a little crooked and another too small. But it still gives me the same hopeful feeling when I look at it now as it did the night I made it."

His handiwork was complete, and he returned his arms to his sides, smiling fondly at the sight of the small pin. Hermione looked down at it and ran her fingers over it. How he had learned to do so much was still a mystery, one she intended to begin unraveling very shortly. "It's beautiful."

They began walking through the streets of New Orleans toward St. Augustine's and Hermione came to the realization that she loved the city even more after dark. "So, you came here before?" she asked, hoping Draco would tell her the whole truth as he had promised.

"I did," he replied with a single nod.

"Why?" she pressed.

Draco looked at the pavement as they walked, drawing his bottom lip in between his teeth as he mulled over the answer. "Honestly? I wanted to learn more about magical cultures in the world. And the voodoo sect here is known world-wide."

Hermione frowned. It didn't make sense—Draco Malfoy out discovering the world for himself. "Surely, in your travels and contact with the magical beings here, you learned about Laveau."

He nodded again. "I did. I was told nothing about the hairbrush, but I did meet one gentleman who runs a voodoo shop in a seedier part of the city. Claims he was a direct descendent."

"You didn't think that was important to our case?" Hermione questioned, looking at him incredulously.

Draco shrugged one shoulder as they stood in front of the restaurant. "Not really. I'm not even sure how true it is. I simply went into his store, looking to purchase a few items. I was pointed in his direction by a woman I met in Haiti."

"What on earth were you here looking for?" she asked quizzically.

"A rosary supposedly owned by a spirit known as Papa Legba," he answered, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

"So, you _are_ a treasure hunter!" Hermione told him, not bothering to keep the accusation from her tone. "Draco, we let you in on classified information as a consultant. If the others find out, I could lose my job!"

"I am a collector of rarities, oddities, and mystical artifacts," Draco corrected, his jaw setting defiantly. "And I'm here for you to consult!"

"Did you only agree to work with us because you thought you would get something out of it?" she demanded, feeling the old fire flare within her.

Draco glanced around them to see if anyone was watching their debacle play out in the streets. "Of course not, Hermione."

"Then you tell me why you're here!" Hermione retorted, crossing her arms.

"Merlin, you're spectacular when your hair crackles with electricity," Draco told her, trying and failing to hide a smile.

"Draco." Her voice was warning as she tapped her foot.

"I'm here simply because you asked me to be," he answered, his tone genuine. "I am not here with the intent to bring anything back to my vitrines."

"You traveled the world in search of rarities, and you expect me to believe you are tagging along for the intrigue? That would have worked for me yesterday, but after seeing your room and hearing your admission, it sounds an awful lot like you're here with the hopes that you'll get your hands on that brush."

A look of hurt crossed his face but then was gone in a flash. "Wrong. Maelbrot has laid claim to the hairbrush. And I am still here. I came because—" his voice wavered, and he shrugged, rocking on the balls of his feet.

"Because why?" Hermione asked, feeling her anger weaken as he flushed scarlet.

"Because I missed you. I've thought about you often since we parted, and I thought I'd ruined everything. I want to make up for lost time," Draco admitted quietly, stepping in to where she stood. "I promise you, I'm here to assist you, however you need. I have no intention of trying to obtain anything. And I _am_ incredibly intrigued by this case. I may not be a curse-breaker, but I have seen a lot of strange, evil, even horrific items, and this hairbrush may be the worst thing I can think of."

Hermione felt her heart tighten at his proclamation and she looked at where his hand was lightly running up her arm. "I'm sorry. It's just—I fought to get you here. I knew you were the right person to assist me in solving this curse, the only one who would believe what I was saying enough to give it a try. It's been seven years, but I had faith that this would work out."

"I won't let you down," he told her, his words sounding more like a vow than a simple promise. "We'll solve this. Now, can we please go to dinner? Catch up with one another? As you mentioned, it's been seven years."

Hermione ran her palm over her face, certain she had ruined everything with her worry. Draco was likely just being kind and magnanimous because it was ingrained in him by his mother. "We can go back to the bed and breakfast. I—I have no idea what I am even doing."

Draco waved his hand dismissively. "Nonsense. We're going in and you will tell me every minute detail of your life for the last seven years."

With that, he took her hand once more, placing it in its rightful place at the crook of his elbow and led her carefully up the stairs and into the restaurant. The scent wafting from the kitchens was heavenly and her belly grumbled traitorously. "Two for Malfoy," Draco mentioned to the maître d'.

The young girl looked dumbfounded in the face of a man so attractive and she gulped as she nodded, her eyes wide and her cheeks staining. "R-right this way, Monsieur Malfoy."

"Good going, _Monsieur_. You've enchanted the poor girl," Hermione teased, though less than a half hour prior, she had likely held the same face while his fingers kissed over her collar.

"It's the dimples. Gets them everytime," Draco said confidently, flashing those dimples in her direction with a toothy grin.

His words were true enough and Hermione kept silent to avoid stuttering her agreeance. She had stuck her foot into her mouth enough for one evening.

The young girl led them through the restaurant and up a winding staircase to a heavy sycamore door. She opened the door and stepped aside to let Draco and Hermione pass.

"Go ahead," Draco commanded lightly, placing his hand on Hermione's lower back.

Hermione stepped out onto a rooftop veranda, all of the tables empty save for one right by the balcony rails. There was a lantern set to one side of the table, a candle flickering within and casting a soft glow. A string of large bulbs hung around the perimeter and came to a point in the middle of the area, twinkling pleasantly against the inky sky. Soft violin music filtered from all around and over all, it gave off an intimately romantic feel. Hermione's pulse quickened, and she nearly stumbled to a stop as they made their way to the table.

"I'll have the first course brought up shortly," the maître d' mentioned, leaving the two alone once more.

Draco pulled out her chair and gestured toward it. "I won't bite."

Hermione found her feet struggling to carry her to where he stood, staring at her as though she were crazy. She sat primly on the edge of her seat and Draco slid gracefully into his chair across from her.

"So," he began, retrieving a bottle of red wine from an ice bucket and pouring them each a generous helping. "I can tell you're just bursting with curious energy. Ask the question we both know you're dying to know the answer to."

Hermione wet her lips—which had become dreadfully dry she noted—and looked at the glass he pushed in front of her. She pulled it to her lips and then wrapped her fingers delicately around the stem, running a finger from her other hand around the rim. Staring at the wine, the curly-haired witch grew anxious as she thought about her transparency.

"Why did you leave?"

Draco took a longer sip from his glass and then puckered his lips for a moment, savoring the flavor. "I told you earlier—I tried my parents' way of life for a while. Dated a few witches. Worked for my father for a brief spell. But it was too mundane. I couldn't handle that stuffy, predictable way of life a moment longer."

"What made you decide to travel, though? You seemed like you knew exactly where you were headed when we left school," she challenged, wishing he would speak freely without her pulling the information from him.

Draco stared at her from across the table, his face illuminated by the lantern in a warm light. "Granger, do you remember the night on the pitch when you told me of the horcrux hunt—all that you had been through?"

Hermione leaned back, surprise written in her every feature. "Yes. You were the first person, besides Ron and Harry, that I had freely spoken to about what I experienced."

Draco gave her a humbled bow of his head and a small smile. "Do you remember what you told me? About the moon?"

Hermione raised a brow and the corner of her mouth. "No matter where we were, it was always the same moon looking down at us. Staring up at it always made me feel like I was home, no matter how far from home I was, because I knew it was the same moon my friends and family were looking at."

"Exactly," he told her, and again, she felt as though there was a double meaning to his words. "No matter where you were, that moon was the same moon the ones you loved would be watching as well. I wanted to see that moon from every facet of the world, to see if it would be one and the same."

"Was it?" Hermione asked quietly.

"You see, the thing is, Granger, it looks much prettier and clearer from the top of the Andes mountains, the sky crisp and clear when the fog and clouds thin, than it does from the polluted, smoky hills of Los Angeles. But I will agree with you on one thing."

"What's that?" she asked, bringing her glass to her lips to avoid his penetrating gaze.

"It brings comfort when you're far from home. To think that someone you love may be looking at the same moon," he told her, avoiding her eyes as he poured more alcohol into both of their glasses.

"Where did you go? It sounds like you've been _everywhere_."

Draco nodded thoughtfully. "I've been to six continents. Thirty-nine countries. Countless villages and cities. My goal is to make it to all one hundred and ninety-five countries in my lifetime. And Antarctica."

"What has been your favorite place to visit so far?" she asked him, awe-struck that he had made it around to so many different places.

He was silent for a few moments, seeming to sift through his mental catalogue of places he'd been. "Morocco. The bright colors, the blend of French, Hispano-Moorish and Islamic architectures, the people among the most interesting I've come in contact with. There was a vibrancy about the entire country."

"And your least favorite?"

The waiter came to their table at that point, carrying a tray of cheese, crackers, olives and grapes. Draco exchanged pleasantries and then turned back to her, pushing the tray of food in her direction slightly. "To answer your question, I do not have a least favorite. Every place I have been has had pros and cons and each place was a learning experience. A life experience."

Hermione placed a cube of cheese onto a cracker and popped it into her mouth, the question she desperately wanted to ask on the tip of her tongue. Draco was watching her every move like a predator watching prey. "Ask me," he directed, sitting back in his chair.

The witch chewed her bite of food carefully, mulling the question over in her head, trying to find the right phrasing. An entire minute went by, with Draco waiting patiently while she gathered herself. Finally, her courage decided to grace her with its presence. "Why did you stop writing? Really? With no goodbye letter, no explanation, nothing?"

"My mother wanted me to see witches, try to find one suitable to marry. I couldn't very well find someone if I wrote you nearly obsessively each day now, could I? You have to believe me—that decision is the biggest regret I hold in life," he explained calmly, his eyes searching the depths of his wine before they flickered up to her own mahogany ones.

"But you didn't find anyone suitable to marry?"

"My heart was not my own to give," he replied.

His riddles were making her head spin. Hermione touched the elephant charm around her neck. "What were you searching for? Traipsing all over South America and Africa?"

"A purpose in this life. I had fucked everything up as a teenager. I suffocated under the weight of the society I was born into—the rules, the expectations, the archaic belief system. I wanted to break away from those constricting bindings and see the world beyond wizarding Britain," he said adamantly, leaning forward on the table and speaking with conviction. "I know you've seen a small taste of it as a curse-breaker. The excitement, the diversity, the history of the world beyond home."

Everything he was saying made sense to her—it was part of the reason she had become a curse-breaker with Gringotts to begin with. The nail-biting adventure and excitement. But she could not imagine the beautiful man across from her roughing it as he hiked to Machu Picchu. Had he showed any signs of this ambition and interest when they spent that final year together, Hermione suspected she would have been right there, staring down at the valleys of Peru with him. He had told her repeatedly that he wanted to be free of the monkey's cage he felt like he dwelt in, wheeled through the public eye and ridiculed in the aftermath of the War. And he had made good on his word. Pride welled within the witch and she sniffed, overwhelmed with emotion.

"You made it," Hermione said in answer to his questioning stare.

"Made what? A mess of this wine?" Draco asked, dabbing at a wet spot on his black shirt.

"Out of the cage."

His eyes met hers once more and his face split into a wide grin, his pewter orbs sparkling in the pale light. Hermione may not have understood every choice of his, and perhaps still held a tinge of hurt that he had not invited her along on his journey to self-enlightenment. But she could see, in the way he bashfully rubbed a hand over the back of his neck and smiled at her as though he were the luckiest man alive, that Draco felt as though he had finally found what he had searched for all along.

o-o-o

 _A/N: Thank you for all of the support for this story of mine. I apologize for such a long chapter, but I needed some Dramione alone time. I craved it. An enormous "thank you" to_ _ **CourtingInsanity**_ _for gracing this chapter with her beta skills!_


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4:

" _ **My heart is breaking at the thought that this will be my last letter to you. Seeing as my previous five have gone unanswered, I do not hold out much hope that you'll reply to this. I've wracked my brain, trying to figure out where we went awry. For the life of me, Draco, I can't pinpoint a moment. Over the last year, you became my best friend. We became close and I opened my heart to you. I just wish you would let me into yours. At one time, I thought you had, but your silence these last few letters contradicts that quite significantly. I'm not sure what it is you are searching for, or if you even know. But I hope you find it and I hope you live a prosperous and joyous life. Maybe one day, the Fates will bring us back together, but until then, I will tuck the memories of this last year with you close to my heart.**_

 _ **Always Yours,**_

 _ **Hermione"**_

 _Draco clutched the wrinkled parchment in his hands as he sat on the edge of the bed. He had put a stasis charm on it, but even still, it had faded were it had been folded in his trouser pocket for the last two years. He wondered what the brilliant witch was doing these days or if she had found a man who could love and cherish her the way she deserved._

 _Letting her go had been the hardest decision of Draco's young life—twice as difficult as joining the Dark Lord's ranks. Being with her during their final year at Hogwarts had been something out of a blissful dream. He had grown fond of his one-time enemy, admired her bravery and intellect, lusted after her gorgeous figure and tempting pout, vowed to cherish her until his last breath. Even if that meant making all the wrong decisions for all of the right reasons._

 _He had tried to live up to his parents' expectations for the last two years. Dated a couple of witches, though his heart was never in the right place. His heart was neatly tucked into the breast pocket of a witch's set of trainee robes at Gringott's. With everything bearing down on him, suffocating the very life from his lungs, Draco read and reread her letter for what must have amounted to the millionth time._

 _It was late, the sky was an inky shade of black outside of his window, the stars dulled against the moon's luminescence. He glanced down at the grounds surrounding the Manor, the peacocks as they pecked at the grass, the vast expanse of land beyond. Even with so much freedom in his own home, it felt more like a prison. Any time he ventured too far from the Manor, he was met with stares and leers, a captive in his private gilded cage. The witches his mother paired him with were the same vapid girls he had avoided at Hogwarts._

 _Draco stood and walked toward the bookshelf at the far end of his bedroom, the scuff of his pant legs against the wood the only sound in the still house. He had begun to read Muggle books in the last couple of years, rebelling against his father's beliefs openly and thoroughly. His long fingers plucked a book from the shelf and it fell open to a photograph of a woman perched atop the back of an elephant. Thailand. A foreign and exotic sounding country far, far away from the confines of fetid wizarding Britain._

 _Another glance at the moon brought along thoughts of something Granger had said to him, nearly three years prior. The moon is always the same, no matter your location, and it brought comfort to think that someone close to the heart could be staring up at the same moon. He wondered briefly if she was looking up at the illuminated face, wherever in the world her internship at Gringott's had her resting currently._

 _With his name on her lips and her unquenchable thirst for knowledge festering within his own heart, Draco went to his closet and retrieved his rucksack. His thoughts were flipping at lightning speed and the image of the woman on the elephant filtered into his mind. He wanted that—the unparalleled joy of seeing the world beyond._

 _The twenty-one years of his life thus far had been far too structured, every movement and decision of his calculated by others. The people who called themselves his friends, the prospective brides, the Mark on his arm—nothing had been his own. For once, Draco wanted to be in command of his own life. With a rucksack filled with jeans and shirts, he pulled on a crisp pair of jeans and a soft black jumper, slipping his feet into the heavy dragon hide boots he had once worn for Quidditch playing. He pressed his muggle passport into his pocket to rest with Granger's letter, applauding his forethought in obtaining the ridiculous booklet._

 _Stealth was on his side as he crept down the stairs and into the tearoom, where his parents would take their tea and breakfast in only a few short hours. He retrieved a quill and parchment from the credenza and penned a quick letter to his mother._ _ **"I need to do this—for me. I'll owl once I've reached my destination. Love, your only son."**_

 _Tucking the letter under her favorite saucer where he knew she would find it, Draco glanced around himself once. His home, the place that had once been his playground, seemed more like a cell in Azkaban and he felt that smothering weight pressing into him from every angle. There was a tugging in his chest at the thought of leaving, but an even more powerful pull drawing him out into the world._

 _He slipped quietly from the front door of the Manor, unsure of where he was headed or how exactly he would get there. He simply knew he needed to move his body, one foot in front of the other down the path leading away from this life. His heart was pattering rapidly in his chest, the blood pounding behind his eardrums as he moved forth. He had a bag of muggle money, a heart of stone, and a head of cotton, but his determination was fierce and held him upright. His feet carried him for miles through the winding countryside of Wiltshire and through a reticent muggle village in those first few hours. Hitching a ride into the city on the back of a work truck had provided him the initial rush, solidified his desire to travel. All he needed was to break free._

Draco lay on his back in bed, the heels of his palms pressing into his eyes until stars exploded behind his eyelids. Memories of the night before flooded his mind and haunted his every rumination. Granger's accusations of him tagging along as a "treasure hunter" sliced him deep, but he supposed he deserved it. The wounds left on her heart from his absence were deeper and worse than he could have guessed. Seven years had done nothing to quell the pain and destruction his uprooting had wrought on her.

He would never forgive himself for the emotional damage he had caused her. It was one more mistake in a lifetime of bad decisions, though he had believed himself to be acting selflessly at the time. This knowledge had not been enough to keep his fanciful thoughts at bay. How many nights had he stared up at the stars—from the sub-Saharan desert to a cabin in the forests of the Pacific Northwestern coast of America—and wished that she were by his side? Clearly, she had sought thrills as well, training with the Curse-breakers of Gringotts. He could have had her with him all along, could have discovered all of the beauty the world had to offer, paling next to her radiance.

At what cost? Draco knew she deserved all that life could offer, the love of a man she could be proud to claim as her own. If he had acted selfishly, she would have been subjected to the cruelty he had faced that first couple of years in Britain after the War. Turned away from restaurants and theaters. Spit on in the streets. Photographed against her will as the tabloids wondered if he had threatened her into a relationship.

 _And, now?_ He scrubbed a hand over his face as he sat up and swung his legs over the side of the bed. _I've changed. I'm a better man now._ Draco had spent the last seven years working hard to become a man he could be proud of, who would be worthy of the redemption and forgiveness of those he had wronged. Granger was at the top of that list, and now that he was being given a gracious second chance, he was scared out of his mind. _What if I've done too much damage? What if it's too late and she has moved on?_

A knock sounded at his door and he went to answer it, knowing intuitively that Granger would be standing on the other side. He cleared his throat and willed the negative thoughts to quiet, to focus on the fact that he _was_ here with her after so long. She was fully dressed and holding out a paper takeaway cup. "There's a coffee shop on the corner. They had beignets!" she exclaimed happily, holding up a grease-stained white paper bag.

Draco raised an eyebrow and stepped away from the door frame so she could enter. "Good morning to you, too."

She sat on the corner of his bed and opened the bag, retrieving one icing sugar-coated square of dough. "These are incredible—you've got to try one!"

He noted, with a smug satisfaction as he sat, that she had fastened his jonquil pin to her blouse. Her hair was put up neatly and her cheeks were aglow with life as she held the treat up for him to take a bite. Draco dipped his head and took a nibble from the side presented him, obliging her. Her eyes watched as his tongue glided over his bottom lip to collect the powdery sugar and he smirked. "Did I get it all?" he asked, leaning back on his palm.

Granger cleared her throat and finished off the pastry, averting her eyes. "You may have missed a little in the corner. Are you ready to meet the Laveaus?"

Draco retrieved a comb from his breast pocket and ran it through his still-damp hair. "Absolutely," he remarked, all playfulness gone from his tone as the weight of the Laveau family horrors began to settle in his chest. "These poor people—I just hope we can figure it out and give them some peace."

Granger smiled at him and took a sip from her coffee. "I asked you along because I knew that together, we could do it. I have full faith in us."

Draco looked up, from where he was tying his shoe, to her back as she stood and went to the window. Something in her tone told him that there was an underlying meaning in her words, that she was talking about something greater than their weekend in New Orleans. He rose and took the second cup from her hands, happy to find that she had opted for tea in his. "I just don't want to let you down."

He tried to put his own inflection on it, to let her know that he was trying to communicate in the best way he knew how. When they arrived on the stoop of the bed and breakfast, Pucey was already waiting. "Took you both long enough."

"We're ten minutes early," Granger argued and Draco rolled his eyes.

"I've got these MACUSA agents up my arse already," Pucey commented, gesturing toward a sleek black car waiting for them along the curb. "Get in—we're headed to the swamps."

The driver's seat was partitioned off from the back seat, where Pucey sat facing Draco and Granger. For good measure, Pucey cast a silencing charm as he settled in for the hour-long drive from New Orleans to the bayous of Houma. "So?" he asked, an eyebrow raised.

"So, what?" she questioned, straightening the hem of her blouse.

"You two," Pucey mentioned, flicking his wrist between the two. "What kind of forbidden affair did the two brightest students at Hogwarts manage to pull off back in the day?"

Draco narrowed his eyes and frowned as Granger fidgeted in her seat uncomfortably. He draped his arm along the back of her seat. "I don't know what you're talking about Pucey. We were friends once upon a time and I'm hoping we can continue to be going forward after such a long time apart."

Draco had known Pucey for quite a long time, belonging to the same House and playing alongside one another on the Quidditch team. The wizard grinned mercilessly, and Draco felt a groan rising in the back of his throat. Of course, the former Slytherin wouldn't drop the subject readily. "Really? The sexual tension between the two of you is palpable. You can't stop touching each other, even now," Pucey noted, pointing to where Draco's knee was brushing against Granger's and then to where his thumb was absently stroking her shoulder.

"We formed something of a very close friendship when we returned to Hogwarts after the Final Battle," Granger told him, placing her hand on Draco's thigh and smiling up at him. "Who knew hidden under that brooding and angsty exterior was a sweet man with a heart of gold?"

Pucey scoffed. "That's a crock of shit, that is. Malfoy was the most self-absorbed little shit to ever pass through the walls of Hogwarts. Except, perhaps, You-Know-Who," he said thoughtfully, shrugging one shoulder. "But really, you expect me to believe that nothing ever happened between the two of you? No sneaky kisses in the restricted section? No trysts in the Head's bathroom?"

Granger crossed her arms and leaned slightly closer to Draco, seeming to seek comfort from him and one glance at her lip going between her teeth told Draco that she _remembered_. There _had_ been a kiss—just one—and it had been the only kiss that replayed in his mind every day for seven years. A pretty blush stained her cheeks and Pucey's grin widened. Draco glowered at him and his hand rested fully on her shoulder. "Drop it, Adrian. _Now_."

Pucey rolled his eyes and looked out of the window, pacified at their reactions enough to know that he had been right about there being a little more to their story. The silence was dangerous as they continued on their long car ride. Draco's mind immediately began replaying the moment that he cherished above all others:

 _The 1999 graduates of Hogwarts were gathered near to the Black Lake the night before they were to leave the school and begin their lives in the post-War world. There were a few bonfires alight along the shore, small groups gathered in jovial conversation. Draco was floating on the surface of the water, watching as the giant squid waved his tentacles to the beat of the music that filled the air. A few students were cheering the cephalopod on, clapping and hooting before splashing into the water from the end of the pier to join him._

 _Granger was seated on the edge of the pier, her legs dangling over the edge close to where Draco was lazing. "Why don't you get in, Granger? The squid is preoccupied and anything else that's harmful lurks a little deeper than this."_

" _I'm just not feeling up to it," she replied quietly and Draco knew something was upsetting her._

 _He pulled himself up and swam the few feet to where her legs dangled, pulling himself up to hang from his crossed arms on the wooden boards of the pier right next to her legs. He tapped her leg with his fingers and rested his cheek against his arm, looking up at her in the dim light. "What's the matter with you tonight?"_

 _She shrugged one shoulder slightly, lifting her hand to ruffle his wet hair before she glanced around them. "I don't know. I think I'm just feeling a little sad that this is truly our last night here."_

 _Draco understood her sentiments exactly—he felt the same. His first year at Hogwarts, free from his family's toxic mentality and the suffocating expectations that had tainted his first seven years at the castle. Drawing to a close just as he was cultivating the most important bond of his life—one with the endearing witch pouting next to him. His heart began pounding at the thought and he knew that this carefree lifestyle would come to an end once he went home to the Manor and his parents began pressing him to court eligible witches._

" _I know how you feel," he told her, pulling himself up to perch on the pier next to her._

" _I feel as though this was the easiest year I've had, as foolish as that is considering so many people lost their lives here. It's just, so much has changed," she mumbled, hanging her head._

 _Draco reached over and pushed her curls away from her face and wiped a stray tear. "It's not foolish. We were given a chance to start over, to learn those we never would have given a second glace to, to gain trust and admiration. Yes, people died. But so many more lived and coming back here gave some of us the first opportunity we've ever been given to flourish."_

 _Granger laughed lightly around a hiccup, resting her head against his chest as he wrapped an arm around her. He felt her fingers tickle over the Sectumsempra scar, as they had many times over the course of the school year. "I don't want to leave here yet, Malfoy. Once we do, everything will change."_

 _He inhaled deeply and rested his chin on the top of her head. "Why don't we take a walk, hmm? Somewhere a little quieter?"_

 _He felt Granger nod against his chest, her fingertip chasing a drop of water down the plane of his chest by her face. "Why don't we go to the pitch, one last time?" she offered, slowly standing and holding out a hand to help him rise._

 _The Quidditch pitch had been where it had all started for Draco. Granger had accosted him by the locker rooms and he had spilled the contents of his heart out to her that night. The pair had been nearly inseparable since and he found that he owed his entire brightened outlook to her. He tugged her jumper closed when she got a chill and cast a drying spell over his own body before pulling on a shirt._

 _The walk toward the empty Quidditch pitch was quiet with contemplation and his stomach turned at the thought that this was the last easy night he would spend with her. She led him under the stands and out to the center of the field, where she plopped down and sat cross-legged. Her hand reached toward his and she gave it a gentle tug. Draco sat next to her, leaning back on his palms and stretching his legs out before him. "I just can't believe this is it," the witch commented, leaning forward and plucking a few strands of grass and tearing them to bits._

" _It does feel strange. To know that we won't be returning in September," he conceded, closing his eyes and casting his face toward the sky._

" _I accepted the internship at Gringott's," her voice was barely above a whisper._

" _You did what? When were you going to tell me?" he asked, sitting up and looking over at her, a small smile sliding onto his face. "This is fantastic!"_

 _Granger shrugged and looked up at him, though her features told a different story. "The first few months of training will be in the Black Forest."_

 _Germany? Draco felt his heart sink even as he held his smile in place. She would be leaving Britain for a short period and he understood her reluctance immediately. Since they had forged their unusual friendship, they had not been apart for more than a day few days. She tried to put a smile on her face to match his. "I can still write every day. It's not isolated."_

 _It was little comfort to Draco, but he knew she was trying to be positive for herself more than him. "I look forward to hearing of your adventures already. Merlin, I'll miss this," he mentioned, swallowing hard in an attempt to choke down his disappointment._

 _The breeze picked up around them, and there was a shift in the air, one he was certain she could feel, too. Curls blew in front of her face and Draco lifted his hand, his fingertips tracing over the smooth surface of her face as he pushed the hair behind her ear. Once her eyes were visible again, sparkling in the moonlight, he could see that they were wet with unshed tears. Instead of lowering his hand, it slid down to rest along her jaw. Her lips parted, and his eyes were drawn to them, so plump and inviting._

 _He had only dreamt of this moment every time she had smiled at him, laughed at his jokes, corrected his academic theories, or challenged him with a fiery passion that aroused him in more than one way. As she gave him a shy smile and rested a tentative hand on his chest, he brought his face close, waiting for her to back away. Instead, to his pleasant surprise, she lifted her face to meet his._

 _The first touch of their lips was gentle, unsure, bashful. A simple press of skin on skin before Draco pulled away a hairsbreadth and his nose brushed hers. Her hand slid from his chest and wound around the back of his neck, her fingers curling into the hair at the nape of his neck as her lips parted. Accepting her subtle invitation, his tongue slid along her bottom lip before he pressed into her mouth._

 _A whimper began at the back of Granger's throat and Draco swallowed it as he ran a fingertip over her face, brushing her curls away before his hand went around to the back of her head and he pulled her closer still. Leaning up from where he had been propped on his other hand, his hand brushed up her arm, over her shoulder and came to rest on her neck as she readjusted her positioning._

" _Come closer so I can feel you in my arms," he whispered, his head still cloudy from the spell her mouth was putting him under._

 _Granger moved so that she was seated in his lap, her body warm and soft against him. Draco could not have accurately imagined what it felt like to finally kiss her after so many nights of yearning. Rationale had long floated away on a breath of wind and all he knew was how fucking right it felt to be kissing her._

 _Fuck the fact that, after tonight, they would be separated by her new career and his parents' ridiculous ideas of marriage. Fuck the fact that he had waited an entire year for this moment. Fuck. He just wanted her and he had her at this moment. Her hands were warm as she traced his body, her tongue teasing his deliciously. And he had her._

 _When she finally pulled away, Granger rested her forehead along his collar. A breathless laugh left her throat and she planted kisses along his throat and jaw. "Is this really it?" she asked softly, wrapping her arms around him._

 _No sooner did she get the words out, did they hear Pansy Parkinson's shrill voice calling Draco's name. The sound seemed to sober them both and Granger stood abruptly, a hissed, "Shit!" escaping her. When their eyes met, sentiments of unspoken apologies, sadness, and longing were exchanged. Never had he wanted to hex someone so thoroughly as he wanted to hex Parkinson when she came stumbling into the Quidditch pitch, drunk off her arse on firewhiskey._

"Ah, here we are," Granger remarked as they started to creep down a winding path, darkened under a canopy of trees and lacy Spanish moss.

Draco turned his head in the direction she was staring, but he was looking at her profile rather than at the world beyond. What he wouldn't give to go back in time and tell Granger exactly what he had felt that night, exactly what it had meant to kiss her. To tell her, _"No, this isn't it. I never want to let you go."_ He was a firm subscriber in the belief that everything happened for a reason and he knew now that seven years ago, he had not been the man she deserved.

 _And, now?_ Now he was exactly what she deserved, and he would do everything in his power to bring her back to him.

o-o-o

A/N: Sorry for how long it took to update this. I've just been feeling angsty lately and so I've been spending time writing angst. Aaaand I also just realized that New Orleans was going to be a longer journey than I had originally planned as I add an extra element to it.

Next chapter, some old friends join the party. Who do you think it will be? Please review, my loves! And thank you for all of the support you've already shown.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5:

The car crept along the shaded path until, finally, a home became visible. It was made of wooden slats and looked to be nearly a hundred years old. Baubles and trinkets hung along the porch railings, feathers and alligator heads among them. The house was on a parcel of land, lined by dense cypress trees jutting up from the swamp.

The driver parked the car behind another nondescript black vehicle and Hermione climbed out, grateful for the distraction from her thoughts. Thinking of the night she'd kissed Malfoy would only lead to renewed heartache. As Agents Craven and Thorne approached her, she took a moment to simply _feel_ the magic around her. So different than the ancient variety that ran under the soil in England, the energy here was nearly electric. The hair on the back of her arms stood, gentle beats as those of a drum thrumming through her heart.

Draco came to stand next to her, looking around with narrowed eyes. "It's incredible, isn't it? The blood magic at work all around us. They've lowered their wards to allow us access."

"Traditional Western magic mixed with African root magic and a new brand of New World voodoo," Agent Thorne commented, seemingly spooked by their placement on the property. "All laced with a dash of saintly Catholicism."

"Good of you to finally join us," Craven told them grumpily, his arms crossed.

Pucey rolled his eyes. "We're ten minutes early."

The front door of the house opened and a man stepped out, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. "Draygo Malfoi. I didn' know ye'd be heuh," he called out in a thick Cajun accent, a wide smile spreading across his face.

"Henri Bastien," Draco approached the man, an equally wide smile, "I knew you'd be here!"

"Ya mus' be his girl," Henri said, holding out his hand to Hermione.

Draco shook his head gently, though he placed his hand on Hermione's back as he introduced them. "Just a friend. Hermione, this is Henri. I met him here when I was in search of an incredibly rare artifact."

Pucey was staring the man down, is jaw set tight as though he didn't trust him. Both of the MACUSA Agents looked uncomfortable, though they hid it the best they could beneath a professional air. Hermione looked to Draco, who appeared completely at ease with the man. His demeanor was genuine enough to Hermione, though she eyed the alligator tooth hanging from a leather bread around his neck.

"Well, come on in," Henri waved his hand, motioning them all in. "I'm only de in-law. Muh wife, Calypso, is de Laveau."

He led them into the house, where they were greeted by no less than ten more individuals. A plump woman with long braids piled atop her head rose from the closest couch and wiped her palms against her jeans nervously before extending her hand. "Calypso Laveau-Bastien. Welcome to our home, and thank you for coming." Her accent was far less harsh, a slight hint of Creole French creeping in.

"Mrs. Bastien," Agent Craven began, lifting a file that contained the details of their case, "we have briefed these three—Hermione Granger, Draco Malfoy, and Adrian Pucey," he pointed to each of them, "—on the happenings surrounding your family's possession of the brush."

"If we could begin moving toward obtaining the brush—" Agent Thorne started, only to be interrupted by a tall, handsome gentleman across the room.

"We will not dig that God forsaken thing up and expose this family to more tragedy!"

"Mr. Darjean, we cannot begin to help you—"

Hermione stepped in front of Agent Thorne, placing a warm smile on her face. "Mr. Darjean, is it?" The man nodded. "Our intention is not to disrupt your family, by any means. Can we begin first by asking questions?"

Darjean's eyes flickered to Calypso's, who gave him a sharp nod. He sat back in his seat, shaking his head. The woman, clearly the matriarch of the family, looked at all of her relatives. The others all remained quiet, respectful of her requests, waiting for instruction from her. "I told all of you that we will hear them out, as we asked for their help. Please, sit. What kind of questions do you have, Miss Granger?"

Calypso transfigured five more chairs, filling the already tight space further. Hermione sat primly as tea was poured by a young girl of no more than fifteen. "Can we hear from you what kind of phenomena surrounds this brush? We've read the files, but it would be more meaningful to hear from you directly. How did Marie Laveau come into possession of it?"

"It is said that it was given to her by a slave who sought treatment for leprosy," Calypso began in a hoarse whisper, her eyes glazing over slightly as she spoke of her family's history. "She used it in her beauty parlor for years, with no reported trouble. It wasn't until Mama Marie passed that the strange happenings began."

"What kind of strange happenings?" Draco asked, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees.

"Terrible things. At first, we thought it was just dumb luck. But...soon it couldn't be ignored. Rochelle Laveau attempted a ritual to destroy it and burned down an entire farm, leaving nothing but the brush."

"Unscathed," Henri piped in, nodding as he listened to his wife speak. His cheery disposition had sombered since she began.

"Caroline Beaumont used it to brush her hair—killed her and her unborn babe," Calypso said, wringing the hem of her shirt between nimble fingers. "We can hear whispers and screams coming from _inside._ "

"What do these voices say?" Pucey inquired, sipping his tea as he leaned forward in interest.

Calypso's eyes flickered to her husband, who patted her knee comfortingly. He spoke in her stead. "T'ings like ' _save me.'"_

"In a male or female voice?" Agent Craven asked.

Henri's jaw worked beneath the surface of his cheeks as he ground his teeth. "De voice o' a demon, Agen' Crayvun."

Draco glanced out of the window, staring out toward the treeline. "Where, exactly is the brush now?"

Darjean spoke up next, as his aunt glared at him. "We put it into a trunk and chained it shut. It's out there."

"Have you had any trouble since burying it?" Hermione wanted to get her hands on the brush, and knew that it would be a long road to obtaining access to it.

"It summoned the rougarou."

Hermione stared at Darjean, trying to recall what exactly a rougarou was. "A wolfman," Henri clued them in.

"How could the brush's curse call on a werewolf?" Pucey asked, skepticism coloring his tone.

Darjean shot him a dirty look for his blatant display of disbelief. "We hear it howling in the night. Our goat was torn to shreds, deep gashes from wide claws."

"Has anyone else in town experienced anything?"

Darjean and Calypso both shook their heads, though the latter spoke. "No. It's only us. It's only ever us."

"I know this next question sounds crazy, and I do not want you to take this the wrong way, Hermione weighed her next words carefully, "but did Marie Laveau ever perform any sacrifices in her rituals?"

Calypso narrowed her eyes in agitation and huffed. "Not human, if that's what you're insinuating."

"Mama Marie was venerated by the Catholic Church. She was a _saint_ , a gentle woman who practiced healing," Darjean retorted, his tone clipped and insulted.

"I'm sorry," Hermione began, "I didn't mean to offend. It's just...I don't know exactly how much of the downfall of Voldemort you are aware of. A lot of this phenomena mimics that of a horcrux."

"She would _never_!" Calypso stood, pointing her finger in Hermione's face. "I can't believe you would insult my family name in such a manner."

Henri grabbed his wife's elbow, shushing her in an effort to avoid a shouting match. "Caly, take de odduhs and go into de kitchen. Put on a pot o' gumbo and cleuh ya head."

Draco scrubbed a hand over his face next to Hermione, sighing. Adrian still sat with his arms crossed and the MACUSA Agents both looked far too smug. Whispering something in French, Calypso glowered in Hermione's direction as she gathered the others, save Henri and Darjean.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean—"

"Is it possible to make a horcrux using an animal sacrifice?" Darjean cut her off, fear in his eyes as the possibility sank into his mind.

"I'm not entirely sure, but if Marie Laveau tried to, it's possible that she botched her attempt to live on and the piece of her soul housed within feels _trapped_ ," Hermione remarked thoughtfully, her heart racing at the thought of another horcrux being in existence.

"She would never intentionally hurt anyone," Darjean countered, and Herni clapped a hand on his shoulder.

"No. She wouldn' have. She was uh hero heuh."

Draco spoke up, running a hand over her back. "We're not discounting any of that. But if anyone knows about Horcruxes, it's Hermione. She participated in the destruction of a half a dozen of them."

"Dis no good, Marten. No good at all," Henri pinched the bridge of his nose as Darjean clapped a hand over his own mouth, both men lost in thought.

"We are going to need access to that brush in order to destroy it," Pucey mentioned, and Craven and Thorne rolled their eyes simultaneously.

The two Louisiana natives exchanged looks, communicating nonverbally. Finally, Henri nodded slowly. "Firs', uh plan. Let me speak tuh Caly."

Henri disappeared to speak to his wife, and together, the couple saw the Curse-breakers out, a hesitant agreeance between them. Hermione bristled under the Laveau heiress' untrusting stare, one that followed her and pierced right through her as they strode over the lawn toward the dirt road where their vehicles were parked.

"Do you always insult your clientele, Miss Granger?" Craven questioned sheepishly, giving her a condescending look as though he thought her wholly incompetent.

"I didn't mean to be insulting. But it is important that they hear exactly what we are thinking."

"A fucking Horcrux?" Thorne demanded, shaking her head incredulously. "Have you completely lost your mind?"

Hermione's knuckles were white on the handle of the door as she reeled her temper in. "Have you ever been in contact with a real Horcrux, Agent Thorne? Or did you only read about them in Auror training? Because of the work that myself, alongside Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, completed?"

Agent Thorne's cheeks burned a bright scarlet as she lifted her nose and cleared her throat. Hermione allowed a smirk to settle across her face. "That's what I thought. I cannot be for certain that this is what has occurred here, but it is as plausible an explanation as any."

Craven lifted his hand and jabbed it in her direction. "You want us to completely smear the name of a venerated hero of this town, _on a hunch?"_

Draco stepped between Hermione and the Aurors, drawing to his full height and crossing his arms. Hermione could see the tense set of his shoulders as he poised for an argument. "No one is trying to smear her name. It is completely possible that she tried to create a piece of herself that could live on with her family forever—a completely innocent ideal—and her soul ended up in a corrupted and vulnerable state. And I absolutely believe this is a combination of cursed artifact and cursed bloodline."

"You Brits are crazy," Thorne muttered under her breath as she climbed into the car. "Get in, Gerald."

Hermione poked Draco in the back as they watched the vehicle pull away. "You don't have to protect me, you know. I don't really care what they think. They're narrow-minded and inexperienced."

His shoulders slumped some as he turned toward her. Hermione saw a couple of members of the Laveau family watching from the window. "Let's get in and we can talk a little more readily as we ride back."

Pucey went around the car as Draco opened her door and followed her in. "I can tell you that, if my past dealings with him are any indication, we will have to have a solid plan on how to destroy this hairbrush before Henri will allow us to unearth it. He trusts no one completely and will need to see plans laid bare. And he will likely want to participate in its destruction."

"That's not safe. He's untrained!"

Draco shrugged and Pucey's mouth snapped shut. "I understand, but I know him. At least, I think I do. And I'm telling you what I know."

"So we need a solid plan on how to destroy a Horcrux. No big deal—we can likely get some basilisk venom from the Ministry's supplies of rare and controlled potions ingredients," Hermione told him, already calculating her instructive conversation with Bill Weasley in her head. He would need to go to the Ministry as soon as possible.

Draco's eyes flickered to Pucey and he shifted slightly in his seat, seemingly uncomfortable and trying to formulate his next sentence carefully. Hermione raised a brow. "What are you thinking?"

He turned, placing his back against the door and his head against the window. "I was simply thinking that if this was made using botched or tainted _Light_ magic, we may not want to destroy the part of her soul housed within."

Pucey huffed. "What do you propose?"

"Research," Draco stated simply. "We need a way that we can _extract_ her soul and rejoin it with the rest."

"Have you gone barmy? Is the heat here affecting your mind?" Pucey questioned, his voice dripping with sardonic incredulity. "There's no fucking way that would work."

Hermione stared icily at her coworker, who simply raised a brow at her indignation. "Draco graciously came along as a consultant. I happen to think his ideas are completely plausible and worth looking into!"

Muttering, "Of course you do," under his breath, Pucey turned to look out of the window. Hermione stared at the exposed flesh of Draco's neck as his Adam's apple bobbed mid-swallow. The likelihood of basilisk venom breaking the Horcrux apart was slim, given the possibility that an animal was sacrificed rather than a human, and the ritual was borne of love and not evil.

o-o-o

"Bring them all in here!" Hermione commanded, tossing her bag on the bed in her room at the bed and breakfast.

A few junior MACUSA Agents followed her in, their arms laden with books from the nation's largest magical library in New York City. Draco stepped around them and waved his wand, clearing all of the contents of the room's desk. "Stack them alongside, if you would, please."

The Agents looked wholly unamused to be ordered around by Draco Malfoy, but said nothing as they did what they were told. Draco removed his suit coat and hung it on the back of the desk chair. Five large stacks of books that had any information at all that could help them lined one side. The youngest Agent—a man no older than eighteen with a pockmarked face and sarcastic sneer on his face—pretended to crack his back. "Anything else we can help you with?"

"No. That'll be all, thank you," Hermione replied, shooing them unconventionally from the room as she lifted the first book onto the desk.

The men left the room, and she was alone with Draco for the first time since they'd left that morning. Pucey had returned to England to report their suspicions to the office and see what Padma could dredge up from the libraries there.

He paced, removing his tie and draping it over the coat on his chair before rolling his sleeves up. Hermione watched him from her peripheral as her fingers worked to find the pages regarding soul magic. He had always been handsome when consumed with thought, and tonight was no different. His porcelain skin was warmed and his eyes glimmered, copper and mercury, by the golden light of the evening's setting sun. His lip went between his teeth as he contemplated something and she found her heart skipping rather agitatedly at the sight.

"Do you want to take a walk? Maybe grab a bite?" she asked quietly, knowing that if they began researching now, she would never want leave to retrieve dinner.

With a glance toward the stacks of books, Draco let out a sigh and gave her a half-smile, the dimple in his cheek prominent. His hand reached up and straightened the jonquil pin on her blouse. "Sure. Maybe some fresh air will allow us to think a little more clearly. I have so much swimming through my head right now."

She couldn't agree more as various scenarios ran through her mind, ranging from simply melting the hairbrush in a vat of basilisk venom to crossing the veil to reunite the piece of Madame Laveau's soul with the rest. "It's sure to be a long night. And we've been out all day. I don't think an hour's break will ruin us."

He extended his hand and ran the other through his hair, causing it to flop indolently back over his forehead. She allowed herself to be pulled up and she quickly slipped off her suit coat and stepped into a pair of flat shoes.

They walked slowly, each lost in thought as Draco led her around streets that were familiar to him. One of the reasons Hermione had become a Curse-breaker was the unique opportunity it provided to stretch her mind and delve into some of the greatest mysteries in the wizarding world. This cursed hairbrush was proving to be one of the most complex cases she had worked since beginning her apprenticeship at Gringott's.

Draco's voice broke the silent, contemplative trance they were both under. "You know, Granger, we may need to look into rituals here, as well. Perhaps speak with some local practitioners of Voodoo and rootwork and see if there is anything remotely close to suitable for this situation."

Hermione mulled over his words, smoothing her hands over her trousers absently. "That may not be such a bad idea. If a misguided ritual caused this, maybe a perfectly executed one could reverse it."

They were walking through City Park, taking in the last of the day's light. The trees broke and a stone bridge led over a creek. Draco's pace slowed to a stroll until he stopped atop the crest and leaned on the bridge's wall, his eyes trained on the shimmering creek surface. "This could be incredibly dangerous. You're brilliant, no doubt. And I'm not half bad myself. But we aren't trained in the ways of Voodoo. It's a completely different type of magic, one that is steeped in an ancient energy, the likes of which we've never felt."

"You don't think we can do it?"

His fringe rustled as he shook his head. "That's not it at all. I _know_ we can, I'm just worried about the repercussions of making even a simple mistake," he admitted, and his hand snaked beneath Hermione's arm. "I would never forgive myself if we encountered a situation we couldn't handle and you were harmed."

"Draco," Hermione trained her eyes to where his fingers laced with hers, "I was eighteen when I went into the woods and hunted Horcruxes. I had no idea what we were doing, but I knew it was important that it gets done. It's the same here—these people deserve to have some peace. And we both know far more now, having been exposed to the world beyond Hogwarts. Of course, it's dangerous, but we need to do this."

"You place a lot of faith in me, I mean, you heard Pucey today—my ideas sound ludicrous. I could be completely off kilter and wreck your entire operation here."

"Don't listen to Pucey. You've been far more helpful in the last few days than he has the entire time we've known about this hairbrush. He's just pissy because you're upstaging him and he doesn't have the upper hand with which to impress me."

"Oh?" Draco's voice lilted strangely beside her. "Does he do that often? Try to impress you?"

Hermione rolled her eyes, though a small smile tugged at her lips at the tone of his voice. "He's made a few passes."

There was complete silence before he scoffed. Hermione glanced sidelong at him and his lips were screwed into a frown. "Like he could ever do anything to deserve you."

"What does that mean?"

Draco's eyes flickered up from the water's surface to meet hers and she was struck with the sincerity in them. Her fingers gripped his tightly as she fought the butterflies in her stomach to maintain his gaze. "You deserve someone who has stripped themselves of the binds of conceit and pompous arrogance and who can worship you selflessly in their absence. You are a brilliant and beautiful witch, and you should only accept love from a wizard who can prove, time and again, that he would rather die than hurt you." At this point, his features darkened with remorse and she felt her throat tighten with despair. He sniffed stiffly after a long moment. "Needless to say, that wizard is not Adrian Pucey."

"You've always held me on some pedestal, Draco. One of these days, you'll see that I have many a folly of my own."

She felt the scrape of his prickly chin against her forehead, brushing her fringe away as he placed a kiss atop her head. "One of these days, you will accept the fact that you are an absolute treasure and any man would be lucky to have you."

A sigh escaped her as she lifted her face. "You really hold me in high re—"

Her sentence was cut off by the soft pressing of his lips against hers. She was fairly certain a squeak managed to escape her throat before she closed her eyes and leaned into him. It had been seven long years since she'd felt his tender caress, and he was even more exquisite than she remembered.

His hand lifted from the stone of the bridge wall to stroke lovingly along the side of her neck, his fingers trickling over her collarbones and playing with her curls. It was she that asked to deepen the kiss by suckling his bottom lip. With a masculine groan, he obliged, his tongue gliding along hers as he angled his body toward her and his hand delved into her hair.

He pulled away to skim his nose along her cheek, his breath hot as he whispered, "I wasn't the man who deserved you all those years ago, Hermione. But I can be that man, now, if you'll only let me."

In response, Hermione nuzzled into his neck, kissing along his jaw. All of the pain he had left behind in his leaving stowed itself neatly in the recesses of her brain, replaced instead with the overwhelming desire to do just as he asked.

For seven years, no other wizard had ever measured up to him. Not even close. Since the first time they had spoken civilly on the Quidditch Pitch in their eighth year, Draco Malfoy had been it for her.

Hermione nodded her consent, her emotions running too high to formulate a coherent thought except, "Don't hurt me again."

"Never." It was a vow, borne of love and sealed with a searing kiss.

o-o-o

 _A/N: Thank you to everyone for waiting so patiently while I got myself together. I've trimmed a lot of this story down to make it a shorter, sweeter version. I hope it is still enjoyable to you. Please review—I'd love to hear your thoughts!_

 _Also, please note that Marie Laveau was a real person, which means she has real descendants. I have made up everyone in this chapter for her family, and brought my boy Henri back for a cameo._


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